Ineluctable
by Asso
Summary: Are you fans of Star Trek? Are you fans of Enterprise? Are you fans of the romance between Trip and T'Pol? Well, if you answered yes to all three questions, I really believe that this story is just for you. But, remember ... you must really be fans!
1. Chapter 1

**Ineluctable**

**By Asso**

_**Part One**_

* * *

_Let me just say one thing, my friends, who, by being here, to read these lines, are evidently also quite willing to read this new story I wrote and am still writing._

_This story has a culprit. Exactly. It is so. You must get angry with War Sage, because it was War Sage who put the bee in my bonnet. The impulse (maybe not exactly corresponding with the development that I gave it, but, well ...) comes from War Sage._

_So, to all intents and purposes, the fault is of War Sage._

_I'm just a performer._

* * *

**oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo****oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

"Two words, if you don't mind."

Oh shit! The boss! Just behind him. He had caught him with his hand in the jar of jam!

He turned around, rising from his chair. Useless to try to hide the body of the crime. The boss had seen and whichever attempt to fool him would have only worsened the situation.

A little uncertain, a boeotian grin plastered on his mouth, he looked at his – ahem - highly esteemed Director. "Yes, Chief?

The Director raised an eyebrow and pointed to the open book resting on the work desk.

"That? It is a book, Chief." *_Bravo, bravo, man! Nice way to do! But what the hell do you think you to combine in this way?_*

The Director snorted impatiently. "I know that. What I do not know, is what that book is doing there, when I have said so many times that I do not like that those who are under my direction waste their time by engaging in personal readings during working hours."

*_Slave-driver! Okay. Let's bite the bullet. Once more._* "I'm sorry, Chief, but I can assure you that I had already completed all my jobs."

"This does not mean that..."

"And that I was not at all wasting my time."

"No?"

"No, Chief."

"Would you like to be so kind as to explain?"

"I was merely relaxing a moment while just picking up my ideas to prioritize tasks not strictly attributable to my personal competence that I would have been potentially able to carry out without intruding into anyone else's work, obviously."

Mh no. It had not gone at all well. Indeed, definitely badly. The sarcasm and raillery were palpable. Damn, he would have just never learned!

"Very well, I'm very pleased in hearing this."

Oh well, thank goodness the boss was not exactly the most sharp-witted man on Earth, to the point that what he had wanted to mean, to him it was clear as mud, and, regarding his ability to catch the teasing... well, better let it fly. But how the hell had he done, that man, to become the Director of the Technical Office of the biggest production company of aero-naval components of the world? *_Is his stupidity sticking to you, man? You know very well of whom he is the son, don't you?_*

"However, even if I can understand how, sometimes, it can be difficult for some to find good ideas in their own brain, it is not in those meaningless and childish readings that you could have caught some good ideas about what could have been possible for you to do."

Hey! Not bad! A flash of irony on his part also! Could there be any hope for him, by chance? Who knows, maybe with time and with a little assistance on his part... However, also quite offensive, it had to be said, too. Anyway ... *_Come on, man! Forget it. Try to be conciliatory, for once._*

Yeah. As if he had not already been conciliatory enough, with that man, his – pfft - _brainy_ boss. Okay. Once more. For the sake of his little sister, who always urged him to be a little less hot-headed. "Come on, Chief. It can also be they may be readings a little naive, but..."

"More than naïve, they are unwholesome."

"Hey! My readings are not unwholesome!"

"You're right. In fact they are scrap paper, this is what they are. Not even useful to be used as toilet paper."

*_Hey!_*

Now the boss was really exaggerating. Okay, he was the boss, but this didn't mean he could insult him so. Now it was becoming difficult, very difficult, to suppress irritation.

*_Come on, man, stay calm. Think about your sister. She would be so displeased if, because of your inability to hold your tongue, you could lose the job for the umpteenth time, after being already fired at least six times. Come on, come, on, a nice long breath._*

Certainly, it was really hard, damn it!

"Chief, I'm not the only one who reads them. They have a great success. There are a lot of fans, not to mention the resounding success achieved by the television series they are based on."

"I've heard of this television series. Star Trek, if I'm not mistaken."

"Exactly."

"Space flights, spacecraft, faster than the speed of light ..."

"Yeah."

"Fables. Dreams."

"What harm is there to dream a little, Chief? Dreams don't hurt anyone."

"The world is full of fools, and I am convinced that those books are able to make the fools even more foolish, which means that they are bad, very bad. No. More. They are dangerous."

"Dangerous?"

"Man will never fly in space at speeds that will circumvent the laws of physics. The laws of God."

"Eh? Well, okay, but…"

"Will never reach worlds that do not exist to meet forms of life that do not exist."

"Sure, sure, Chief. But…"

"Books that talk of such things are not only bad, not only dangerous. They are blasphemous. If something can be written, men - the fools - can be tricked into thinking that it can also be done, can hope that sooner or later someone can do it, in breach of the laws of God. Those books are an incitement to blasphemy."

Ah, so it was so. Damn fanatic idiot! *_No, dear sister, I am very sorry, but I can not stay here to lose the rest of my life to hear this kind of nonsense._*

That man, his boss, was a reactionary brainless bigot. He was certainly not the only one, there were and had been many like him, whose beliefs and actions had weighed so many times in the past to produce extremely serious results, such as to negatively affect all humanity and even to bring to think that it would never have been possible to find a remedy. Very, very many, yesterday as today; today as tomorrow. People who thought that God could waste His time on trifles of such kind just to prevent man from… from…

He had to tell it him. Absolutely had to do it.

His boss was powerful, was not only the son of such a father, he also enjoyed consideration and strong protections. He would have made him pay the price.

But he had to speak.

*_Forgive me, little sister._*

He took a step forward, with a resolute making. His eyes sparkled a little with unrepressed anger. A tiny voice inside him told him not to succumb to his fiery character, to stop before it was too late, but the flame of his damn nature was too intense to be turned off by the faint whiff of that voice. And then there was a limit for everything, damnit!

"Chief."

The tone was anything but respectful. In fact, it sounded definitely irritated and even a little mocking. His colleagues turned their eyes anywhere else, pretending to be somewhere else. It seemed that the knots were going to come back to roost. Sooner or later it would have happened. To the boss, the colleague hired not much time before, had never gone to genius. Too instinctive, too brash, too averse to the rules (those that were stupid) and, well yes, above all, too hard to be kept on a leash and too, too damn smart and capable. And sympathetic, in the bargain. How could that pompous incompetent of the Director have some liking for that imaginative blondish (words of him, of the boss) who in a jiffy was able to solve the most difficult problems that that bastard of the boss (everybody's words) submitted to him all the time in the continuous attempt to catch him out?

"Chief…" A moment of hesitation. But just one moment. "Chief, what is there of blasphemous in thinking, in hoping, that the laws of nature we know now can be surpassed by other laws that we don't know yet and that could allow us to do tomorrow what we cannot do today?"

There! Done! No. _Almost_ done.

What was done was done and there was no remedy, therefore... *_Might as well finish the job._ _Go all the way, man. Empty all the accumulated gall, take advantage of the fact that your dear boss has remained speechless. If you have to go, go in the big way._*

"I also want to make clear that those books, my readings, not only are not blasphemous, they are not even insane or stupid, although..." - Would he understand? Well, maybe not, but definitely the bystanders yes, and they would have reported the news everywhere, which was in any case a great thing. Decidedly satisfactory. – "... not all are able to understand it. And I wish to add that there are a lot of things in them very useful for my work and in general. A lot suggestions and of ideas, Chief. Exactly that, ideas, good ideas, that I used more than once, and that I intend to use yet. Certainly, too much fantasy can be dangerous, but, you know, a little bit of imagination is not bad, considering the lack of propositional ideas, whether fanciful or not, coming, indeed _not _coming from the upper floors." - One last short hesitation, then, in the end, finally, the bang. - "Those where there's you."

And finally the Boss burst out. "You… you!"

Ah, what a satisfaction!

*_Come on, one last tap. At this point, what remains to lose? Nothing, man. So then, go with the lunge_.* "Anyway, it's not for you to judge my readings nor if it's right or not right that I am a fan of those books and of that TV series. To judge, one should be able to understand."

He stopped, at last, in front of a Director tongue-tied, stiffened and livid and amid the palpable silence of all, before finishing the sentence, a little scared, in the end, but also, at the end of the day, feeling liberated, someway. Sooner or later it would have happened and, at least, he had the satisfaction that, to bury him, it would not have been the Boss.

He had managed to reach such a result by himself, without any external help!

*_I'm very sorry, little sister. I really think that from now on you will have no longer any reason to worry about me._*

* * *

"Time, T'Pol."

"Thirty-five minutes, forty-seven seconds, eight-tenths, proceeding at this speed, Sir."

"Okay, I think the time has come to put everything in the hands of the ship's magician."

"Very well, Sir."

T'Pol did not show the slightest change in her usual deadpan and concentrated expression, but the very fact that she had not even raised her eyebrow in hearing his verbal circumlocution together with some other very small signal spoke volumes.

The ship's magician. Alias Charles Antony Tucker the Third, called Trip.

_Her personal_ wizard.

Archer chuckled in his sleeve. By now he knew T'Pol very well.

Who knows what trouble she had to do not to show up her pride.

Forgetting to raise her eyebrow and lowering a little too quickly and a little too downwards her face on her console.

* * *

"Okay. Let's see."

So, 12 tins of various kinds and nature, a head of lettuce, a frozen pizza, a bottle of red wine and...

That was all. Not much, to tell the truth. And not so appetizing. The salad, then ... better throw it away.

The bank account?

He looked distractedly at the account statement. Rather skimpy, in truth. On the other hand practically all his pennies had gone away with the rent for the first three months.

Three months ...

Just the time that had lasted his new employment. And with the salary of those three months he could at the most...

Well, better let it go. Life was so pricey.

Maybe it was better to begin to read up on the modus vivendi of the tramps.

It was not that there were many other prospects for him. Predictably his last boss, being the very influential man he was, had made sure that no one were willing to take in the slightest consideration a possible his new hiring, and he had been able to touch with hand that even the doors of welfare associations were not exactly open to him.

He sat disconsolately. His eye ran to the pile of volumes of Star Trek, accumulated in the corner.

Who knows how much could it have been be possible to draw from their sale? But, on the other hand, could there be anyone willing to buy them?

An unexpected sound startled him.

The doorbell. Who the hell...

He went to the door. He opened it.

The scowling face of his sister looked at him sternly.

* * *

One day or another she would have had to decide to give it up. Wasted effort attempting to hide her feelings, and, even less, that she _had_ feelings, to her fellow travellers, by now too - let's see - streetwise? yes, streetwise, for letting themselves deceived. They knew her too well by now. She had realized very well that the surge of pride that she had felt in hearing the way the Captain had called Trip, _her_ Trip, had not escaped anyone, neither the Captain nor Malcolm, nor - let alone! - Hoshi. And probably not even Travis. And, luckily, the doctor was not there, because he wouldn't have hesitated to brazenly watch her with that smile of his in cinemascope, to put it in the manner of her… personal wizard.

But, on the other hand, she had to stay at least a little bit adhering to her essence of Vulcan female. She had to do it... yes, had to do it for Trip, just for him, more than for herself. He was in love with the T'Pol she was, and would never have forgiven her for being different. Therefore, she couldn't nor wanted to be different.

For the love of her Trip for her. And for her love for him.

But she would have never given up to feel the pride that gave her his love, the awareness, that is, of the fact that he was in love with her, besides the awareness of his love in and for itself. In comparison, the pride that she had felt in hearing the Captain call him "Ship's magician", a completely justifiable pride, because that epithet denoting a great admiration was directed to _**her**_ Trip, was nothing. She would have never again renounced to feel that pride as well as any feeling or emotions. Feelings and emotions frightened her not anymore. **Never**, they would have destroyed her; indeed, they made her feel better, obviously because all her feelings, all her emotions, were inspired and provoked by Trip. They had in him their beginning and in him had their end.

And he would have always been there with her, to protect her, to make her feel safe. To allow her to enjoy those feelings and emotions without being overwhelmed.

Nothing could harm her, if her Trip was with her.

It had been necessary to understand that, as he was the tumultuous and roaring source of the water of those feelings and those emotions, so he was also the tranquil and cool pond that that water went to form in its flowing, impetuous at first, and then gradually quieter, gentler, softer, up to become a peaceful stream debouching into that placid mirror, under a clear sky, where she could dive, and plunge, and swim, and freshen up; where she could rest, floating serenely, with safety and tranquillity, at peace, with world and with herself, after having quenched her thirst at its turbulent spring.

It had not been an easy path, far from it. But in the end she had understood.

This was the equation, the simple logical equation whose solution had always been there, in plain view, at hand, and that she had never wanted to see, that she had finally decided to make her own, after so much, so unnecessary suffering.

She had no need to give up being herself, the Vulcan T'Pol, or, even less, the new T'Pol, the one born from the love between the two of them, her and Trip.

She could afford the luxury of being a perfect, cold, rational and logical Vulcan and, at the same time, the most sentimental and passionate of human females.

Thanks to him.

It was an immense richness, a treasure, that she could never even imagine to have, that no one would ever even thought could be the fate that was in store for her, the day she had crossed the threshold of _Enterprise_.

So was it not sufficiently justified, even in the eyes of any Vulcan, the pride she had felt when the Captain had called Trip "Ship's Magician"? He - to hell with logic - _**was**_ a magician. Had bewitched her. And the spell he had cast upon her would have never had end.

Very little Vulcan, but, in Malcolm's words... Bloody hell! Damn true!

*_All right. So, my dear spellcaster wizard. Show us the might of your magic art. To you, as you would say, the ball._* "Engine room, here T'Pol."

"Here the engine room.

"Commander Tucker..."

"Hess, check the audio channel. There must be something that doesn't work."

This time T'Pol's eyebrow went up. What was going on? Why Trip, instead of answering, had addressed to Anna Hess, making that strange request?

She raised her head, casting a quick perplexed glance at the captain. He saw that he was looking at her with the same puzzled look.

She turned back to the Intercom. "Commander Tucker."

"Hess, check that blessed audio channel, damn it! I can not move, I have to stay here waiting for communications from the bridge."

T'Pol began to get unquiet. "Commander Tucker. Commander!"

"Again! Anna, do something!"

Again? Again _what?_ "Commander! Commander Tucker! What's wrong?"

The Captain had stood up from his command chair and was now standing beside her. His forehead was scowling significantly. He did as to speak in turn in the Intercom, but did not have time.

Again Trip's voice. "There have to be something wrong, Anna, unquestionably. We cannot afford such noise interference. Hoping it is not something worse. Dangerous. Dangerous!"

*_Noise interference? Dangerous? What's dangerous?_* T'Pol couldn't prevent from letting leak out in her voice the anxiety she now felt. "Commander! Commander Tucker! What's dangerous? Which noise interference?"

The Captain's head was now practically next to hers, his ears pricked, like hers, to listen to the Intercom, in unquiet wait for something, anything able to clarify, coming out from there, coming from the engine room.

But what came out didn't clarify anything. Indeed! "It can not come from the bridge. It must be a false voice, a vocal counterfeit."

*_What?_*

"My darling T'Pol wouldn't call ever me so, Commander Tucker. She would call me ..."

"**Trip!**"

"Exactly." The unmistakable laugh of that scoundrel of her T'hai'la rang in the Intercom. "My darling T'Pol would call me just like that."

The Captain's chuckle sounded in her ear.

Damn rascal of a Human! Another of his usual tricks! That ... that term of endearment, that 'darling', had resounded everywhere, and she had failed not to blurt out with that 'Trip' of reproach. And all had heard that she had addressed him calling him thus. He had made sure that everyone could hear that for her ... he was Trip. Okay, everybody knew it, but he should not have done so that everyone could hear that she called him that way. And he shouldn't have called her in public as he called her in private!

Okay being changed. Okay. But... eh, but there was some limit! For Vulcans the private was private, behold! And he could not put her such in a quandary! No. He could not. Even if he was dying by the desire to be called so in public. Even if everyone knew very well that he called her 'darling'. And not only so. Even if everyone knew very well that she called him 'Trip'. And... and not only so!

One thing was when this happened extemporaneously. A little bit of embarrassment and nothing more. Another thing was to pronounce those… terms… in public on purpose. Voluntarily.

It seemed to her that her voice resonated sufficiently controlled. "Trip, I'm not your ... " _But what the hell was she saying?_

"My darling?"

"No! Namely, yes. NO! I mean..."

"What do you mean, my darling?"

"Trip! Stop it!"

This time, that of the Captain was no longer a simple chuckle. It was a frank laugh. And even the others laughed. All of them. Even... she heard him clearly... even Malcolm Reed!

T'Pol sighed. Yeah. She took just a sigh, and not so short.

And okay. All right. She composed himself. *_Might as well say things clearly._* After all, all knew and, in any case ... - T'Pol could not help but feel desire to smile - ... her… _Trip_… had made it, and if she had to be honest, she had to admit that she was not so sorry.

Another of his little magics.

Certainly, it was difficult if not impossible to understand how it could be possible that everything he had of irritating, to her eyes, it was also something she could not do without, indeed, that she loved.

If it was not magic, that!

Magic? But the magic, had to be all his own? Could it not have remained attached also to her? In fact, to tell the truth, he always said that she was his… _witch enchantress_, who had bewitched his heart, and, in truth, his words didn't displease her at all, even though her reaction was obviously that of raising her eyebrow in the most classic of the meanings that this act, distinctive of her, could have, above all and almost always with him, i.e. _but what the hell are you saying_?

But she knew what he wanted to mean, she knew it perfectly. So then? Why… why not repaying him with a little of his magic? That is, to be more precise, with his own coin?

By means of _her own_ magic.

Sure. Why not? Why limit yourself to grin and bear it, as would have said her pestiferous Adun? It could have been pretty... agreeable - funny, so he would have expressed himself - if she had made it so to surprise him. Him and all the others, who at that time were having a ball at her expense, still to put it in his own way.

Now her… frequentation of that filibuster of her human husband had made her very knowledgeable not only in human idioms, but also in the human sense of humour.

But yes, but yes. Really, why not? So then ...

T'Pol straightened up well in the chair and spoke aloud and sure. She had to be certain that her words were well heard both by bystanders and by whoever was listening. "Commander Tucker, your question is futile. But if I have to really give a logical answer to your illogical question, to wit about what I wanted to mean, then I can't answer if not in the way logic requires. So, perk up your ears, to put it in your way, because I will not repeat myself. Due to the peculiar situation in which the two of us, you and I, find ourselves, there can be no doubt whatsoever. It is absolutely logical that, just as you are to me _my most beloved Trip_, the same way I am for you _your most precious treasure_, namely, as you would say, your 'darling'. And if anyone dared to question this logical assertion, should contend not only with logic, but also – and above all - with me."

T'Pol didn't say more. She stopped talking, perfectly deadpan, but with a big satisfied smile within herself. She could clearly perceive the stunned astonishment which vibrated in the sudden silence which had taken over the hushed giggles that had continued to resonate around her after the cessation of the laughs. And the silence of the Intercom told her that at that time her T'hai'la could not speak because his mouth was wide open in amazement. There was no need of the Bond to view it.

_Good, good._

Indeed, there was really to be feeling satisfied. She had succeeded in her intent, and, furthermore ... well, yes, well ... she was not at all sorry to have said out loud and clear to everyone what she and Trip were the one for the other. And... also to have put very in clear that no one could or should have ventured to question this, with whichever purpose. Jealousy? Well, a little, yes. Her acquired human propensity, and, after all, it would not have been the first time. But also, and especially, possession. And this was her nature of Vulcan woman. But perhaps it was even human; Humans had a feeling of possession towards those they are in love with. Damn! She had turned really into a ... into a big mess of a woman! But, well, yes, let's face it. Not that she'd not been... rather bustling with Trip. He, too, had become a big mess of a man, because of her. With the aggravating circumstance that he was already so at the start. Well, maybe even her.

Oh well, enough. In any case, a great result. Now, just the last small blow to complete the work. After the fun, the serious things. She had to make it very clear which it were the behavioural module that her riotous K'diwa should have had to follow. Without gimmicks or magic.

"Very well. Now, having established this incontrovertible truth, moreover already known to all and, therefore, not requiring such a theatrical and blatant public exposure, I think that, considering we have already spent 3 minutes, 25 seconds and 2 tenths of the time at our disposal, the moment has come to proceed without further delay with what we have to do. Do you agree…" - She strongly and deliberately stressed the word – "…Commander?"

Silence from the Intercom.

Then...

"Agree, my darling."

"Trip!"

* * *

"Oh ... err ... Good to see you, sis."

"Not for me."

*_Ah. When it rains, it pours._* How true that for the worst there was no limit. "Come in, little sister."

He stepped aside and she entered.

"Close the door, my _dear_ big brother."

He obeyed. Then he turned and leaned against the closed door with his back.

He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at his sister.

Without speaking.

He knew why she was there and knew that whatever he had said would have been wrong.

"Have you nothing to say, my dear, great, intelligent, brother?"

He continued to look at her without speaking.

She lowered her eyes a moment, then looked up at him. Her face so beautiful and so loved softened. "Why?"

He sighed. Moved away from the door and walked to the window.

Outside, the night was advancing on the city's rooftops.

He did not look at her. It would have been difficult to look at her in her face. "Little sister, maybe this world is not made for me."

For a moment she was silent. Then, behind him, her voice rose. It was a little uncertain.

"After the death of our parents, you have been much more than my brother. You have been father and mother to me. And you were the image of intelligence, ability. You were my idol. I admired you. I... adored you."

Her voice failed her.

He still did not turn. "Not any more?"

Very low, her voice rose again. "None of the places where you went, none of the works that you have undertaken, has ever done for you. Even the latter, the one that my husband had managed to procure to you upon my pressing insistence. There has always been something that you could not tolerate, something in front of which you couldn't accept to lower your head."

Her husband! That popinjay full of himself and without brain who was going ahead only by dint of licking the ass of the mighty! Whom he just did not understand how her sister had accepted to have as her husband. Or ... maybe, he understood, but did not want to know.

He spoke in a voice if possible lower than hers. "Sis, I've tried, believe me. In all ways, but..."

"Enough. No longer."

He looked at the night through the glass of the window. How quickly the dark was advancing.

"Turn around! Look at me!"

He turned.

Her eyes were moist. "I came here to tell you that the two of us won't see each other anymore, my… great brother."

"Little sister..."

"I will give heed to my husband."

"What ..."

"Me too, I've tried in every way, but now I can not do it anymore. I always silenced my husband when he told me that it was not true that you were the genius that I argued you were. But perhaps he was right. Maybe he _is_ right."

"Little sister..."

"Intelligence and goodness are not enough."

"Little sister, listen..."

"You should also know indulge in some compromise, as..." - Something, as a weeping, stirred in her voice - "... as I did, when I agreed to marry my husband."

He did not try to talk again. What ever could he have said to her, now?

She recovered. Looked at him hard. "Farewell, my brother. I'm leaving tomorrow, with my husband. We'll go away. You and I… we'll never see again."

Her voice raised an octave. "I do not want to see you ever again!"

She turned and walked toward the door. She opened it and stepped over the threshold. She stopped. She turned toward him. "Do not look for me."

He took a step toward her.

Her eyes flared up. "Do not look for me!"

The blaze in her eyes went out. They wandered around the room for a moment, rested on pile of books in the corner.

They stared sad on his.

"It is true, brother. This world is not for you. You belong to another world."

Her gaze hardened. "But this other world does not exist."

She turned to leave. She stopped again. She turned a moment longer towards him. "Farewell forever, my brother."

The door closed with a dull thud behind her.

* * *

The time of the play was over. Now, instead of his playful magician, there was her serious and efficient magician.

It was something that she had difficulty to understand, something that irritated her and at the same time aroused in her admiration.

As much she had got closer to Humans, in particular to a certain Human, and as much she now was able to understand and grasp with greater capacity the essence, in a sense, of their thought processes, of their mental configuration, she still remained, obviously, a Vulcan; richer, more complete - this yes - than the other Vulcans; undeniably with, inside, a little, indeed, a lot, of Human. Yes, it was so. But still a Vulcan, by the well-ordered mind, not made, constitutionally, to be able to house within itself at the same time so conflicting behavioural patterns. Although ... well, yes, even though she could not deny that, in some way, though not in large measure, something like that actually had started to happen to her, now. And, frankly, she could not say she was sorry for such a fact. It was a further richness, in a sense, another gift of her Trip.

It could be disconcerting, but not perturbing. Anyway, it was beautiful, because it made her feel even closer to him, just as he said he felt towards her when it happened to him - and he said it was something that happened to him not rarely - to deal with things in the way she would have done. And this, he said, was a marvellous gift that she had done to him.

They two were really one.

Certainly in him this ability to be contemporaneously serious and humorous, attentive and distracted, intent and absent-minded, sweet and rude, even sad and cheerful, even strong and weak ... it was present as in no other.

He was ... baffling. Wonderfully puzzling.

This inherent trait of him, this attitude, this… flair, was another of the many things that made him so different, totally far apart from any Vulcan male. And also absolutely distant from any other human male.

Absolutely unique.

Another one of his spells, many of those that had made her fall in love with him.

With her unique Trip.

Or could it be, perhaps, that she found him so unique because she was in love with him?

Oh, maybe it was so, but it made no difference.

T'Pol shook herself. Fortunately, her Vulcan mind and her long and thorough training allowed her brain to be able to be always focused and efficient. Well, sufficiently focused and efficient. It was not easy to do so, when it was in the game her Ashayam. And... love was decidedly beautiful, but also difficult, very difficult to keep under control. Although ... for Surak's sake! How the game was worth the candle!

But now, she had absolutely not to get distracted. It was nothing dangerous, what they were doing, even if, in space, you could never know. But that did not mean it did not deserve close attention. Far from it. Indeed, considering that it was something that came directly from an idea of her Trip, who said that the idea had come to his mind because he faced a problem that had arisen by tackling it exactly the way she would have done, it was needed being even more alert. It would have been... regrettable that something could go wrong just because of her. Well, 'regrettable' was a term very Vulcan, but not really suitable, to tell the truth. Better to use a human term. _It would have been a crap!_

Her T'hai'la had really put himself in the game, had convinced everyone, including the Captain, who had given him his support, also at the 'upper floors', as he said, and had worked hard, along with her, to plan everything.

Failure would not have been a tragedy, although it would have been a shame, because Trip's idea was really good, full of a great potential applications and its success would have brought space exploration to make a huge leap forward, not to mention everything else. However, the failures must be put into account, they are part of life. You have to be ready for failures. Trip, however, was not one willing to give up so easily, to renounce when things didn't go the right way at the first blow, to surrender in the face of a setback, and this made him even more precious to her eyes and in her heart. He would have fought, he would have picked up the pieces and would have started all over again.

_And she__ would__ have been at his side._

It would have been difficult to convince the upper echelons to give him another chance, but not impossible.

_And she__ would__ have been at his side._

This, however, was the imponderable that the iron logic of the case sets on your path. But a failure due to a _**not**_ prudent behaviour on her part ... well, that yes, it would have been a tragedy!

However, this never would have happened. In love with a Human, okay. In love with that Human, okay. But she was still T'Pol! T'Pol of Vulcan, by the beard of Surak, still assuming that he had had a beard!

Anyway ...*_Watch out, T'Pol. Remember what he told you. You are his eyes and his ears, you are his…_* - The corners of T'Pol's lips curved upwards imperceptibly as she recalled the statement he had made to her, so clearly allusive. _["You, darling, will be my senses."]_

"What do they say, my senses?"

Trip's voice, quiet and serious and yet in some way still slightly playful, came out from the Intercom. T'Pol managed to make it that the shadow of the smile on her mouth didn't become a little more evident. She did not know if it was the Bond between them, but certainly the question of Trip was terribly well-timed.

Obviously she didn't take up Trip's joke. Mh… but… the others? Had they noticed anything? Had caught some allusion?

T'Pol shot a quick look all around. Apparently, all quiet. Although ... well, although ... a little disturbing that gaze at the ceiling on the part of the Captain. And... and also the intensity with which Malcolm and Hoshi ... and also Travis ... were watching their consoles.

Oh, hell! No one spoke? Okay. No one had figured it out. Or, if he had understood, he pretended he had not understood.

So ... *_Quiet voice and professional. Come on, T'Pol._*

However ... mh, however, why not play a little bit along with his game? Damn Human! But what on earth had he done, to her?

"Commander Tucker, your senses, namely me, as I seem to understand, since at this juncture I'm working for you in this… sense, as determined and planned, do not capture anything in particular. Neither by sight, nor by hearing. Neither by… taste, smell or… touch."

A soft chuckle from the intercom. "Very well, my darl ..."

"Tr... Commander. You can be sure that I have everything under control."

"I do not doubt, Commander T'Pol."

He was enjoying himself. It was just so. How much he had emphasized that '_Commander T'Pol_'!

Now just. It was time to put him in line. "Commander Tucker ..."

She did not have time.

"Commander T'Pol, being things as you say, in accordance with the operational plan, I take the direction of operations. With your permission, Captain."

Trip's voice had resounded anything but frolicsome. He had suddenly turned into the efficient and irreproachable Commander Charles Antony Tucker the Third.

"Permission granted, Commander Tucker."

"Thank you, Captain. Commander T'Pol?"

"Commander Tucker?"

"Follow my instructions."

"Very well, Commander Tucker."

"At my command, turn off all sources of energy. Keep only vital supports. As established."

"Yes, Commander."

"Ensign Mayweather?"

"Sir?"

"Set course and speed as by Plan A."

"Yes, sir. One moment… Done, sir."

"Good. Stop any manual intervention on the controls of flight attitude. From now on, inertial flight. "

"Aye-aye, Sir."

"Anna?"

"Yes, Chief?"

"Stop engines. Activate only on my command. I will establish from time to time the power."

"At your command, Chief. Done."

"Very well. Commander T'Pol?"

"Commander Tucker?"

"Let me know immediately of any changes in the trim of the inertial flight. I will provide to correct it by the action of the engines by communicating my orders to Hess."

"Yes, Commander."

"Hess?"

"Chief?"

"Start the energy accumulation. Accumulation speed 1."

"Yes, Chief. Started."

"Very well. Commander T'Pol?"

"Commander Tucker?"

"I'm moving. Within exactly two minutes I will be in the transporter room perfectly on schedule in the established road map. Wait for my orders."

T'Pol felt within a powerful tide of pride.

_Her Trip!_ She knew his ability to command. All Enterprise's crew and many Vulcan and Andorian crews knew it. They had experienced it personally and, indirectly, the Starfleet High Command and the whole Vulcan and Andorian populations knew about it. And she as well. Soval, admired, - _just so_ - had told her what her Trip had been capable of doing. But now, she was able to have a direct experience of his talent, another of the many he had.

And her enamoured heart rejoiced in that.

"At your orders, my Asha... Commander Tucker."

* * *

He could not disapprove her. Really.

Of course, she did not know all he had had to do to provide for her. She was unaware of all the compromises to which he had had to bend, for her sake. He had never told her.

But then she had grown up. And he had thought that she could understand.

He... could not bow to the senseless laws of world. He could not go along its absurd road. He simply could not.

And he had begun to fight, to make a stand, to try, in his own small way, to change something. Risking, too, and a lot.

Thinking that she could understand.

But she... had not understood.

Perhaps he had protected her too much.

But ... all in all, how could he blame her?

The world was what it was and he... was nothing more than a foolish, a small and petty Don Quixote, who struggled in vain against the windmills.

And now the blades of those mills were getting striking down on him.

And he had no hope.

And in his fall he wouldn't have had at his side anyone.

*_Good luck, little sister. I wish you all the best. May you live happily ever after... away from me._*

How it was dark outside the window.

* * *

"I am on the spot, Commander T'Pol."

"Your orders, Commander Tucker?"

"The energy?"

"Regularly decreasing on the whole ship, exactly as expected."

"Hess?"

"Chief?"

"The energy accumulation?"

"It proceeds regularly."

"Increase to point 2."

"At your orders, Chief."

"Mayweather?"

"Sir?"

"Resist any temptation, boy. I'm going to direct course and speed only with the help of the engines. The energy control has to be exclusively in my hands."

"A... aye-aye, sir."

"Commander T'Pol, these are my orders. Transfer all the energy to the engines. Time, in four minutes. At the end, it will have to subsist only the life support. Planning for life support duration... Current energy level, Commander T'Pol?

"One-sixth of a degree above the expected."

"For 9 minutes and two-tenths of a second."

"Programmed."

"Good. Hess."

"Chief?"

"Start procedure addressing energy to the transporter. One degree per second."

"I run, Chief. Procedure started."

"Commander T'Pol."

"Commander Tucker?

"Notify me every ten seconds about course and speed status and ship's energy level."

"As you command, Capt... Commander Tucker."

Captain Archer raised his eyebrow.

* * *

There would never be a light for him?

A light... for his world?

His gaze ran motu proprio to the pile of books in the corner. Then his eyes fell back on the dark, outside.

The night had no lights.

Couldn't be seen a single star.

* * *

"Hess?"

"Chief?"

"Accumulated energy level?"

"Maximum capacity, Chief."

"Status of the transfer to the Transporter?"

"Regular."

"Commander T'Pol."

"Commander Tucker?"

"Exactly in a minute, I will proceed. All the energy accumulated and not yet stored in the Tele-transporter's reserved generator will be channeled into it at the precise moment in which I will give the order to Hess. Anna, duration time of the channelling, exactly one second and three tenths. Schedule."

"Immediately, Chief."

"Commander T'Pol, I'll activate the transporter exactly at the end of the energy channelling. I've already done all the procedures pointing. The target's position has been defined. It only needs to be hooked. Nothing to report?"

"Nothing, Commander."

"Very well."

There was a moment of silence.

"Captain?"

"Trip?"

"I do not envy you."

Archer smiled. "But I envy you."

"Within 45 seconds we'll see if you're right, Captain. Commander T'Pol?"

"Commander?

"You will give me the time, Commander, as planned."

"I will."

"And I'm sure you won't go wrong, T'Pol."

"I will not, Trip."

* * *

But then… why ever should the stars have been seen? Why would they have had to show off?

They were up above. And they were unattainable.

The unattainable hope of a different world.

* * *

Yes, he really envied his chief engineer.

Captain Archer stood quietly in his command chair, ready for any eventuality, but he knew that his two commanders had everything under control.

His eyes met those of Malcolm and Hoshi, even they, like him, '_without job_', at that moment. He saw very well in their eyes exactly what they had certainly read in his.

He made himself well comfortable on the chair, looking back at T'Pol.

It was as if nothing else existed for her except what she was doing.

Anything extraordinary, wasn't it? She was always attentive, alert and focused. Terribly efficient.

Sure. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But, on that occasion, T'Pol was being careful and alert and focused and efficient as never before. She was going all out. It could be felt, could be seen with all blatancy.

Archer smiled, a little amused, a little pensive.

No, she would not have made any mistakes. Trip could count on her. Trip could have always counted on her.

On her efficiency, her capacity, her competence.

On her unconditional help.

On her love.

Wasn't he to be envied?

* * *

Star Trek was not of this world.

* * *

He had given up understanding. Too complicated.

However, Trip and T'Pol were absolutely sure, and if the "ship's magician" and "miss logic" agreed... well, then it meant that it could work.

And he had striven hard, to do so that Trip might have a chance.

He deserved it. And even T'Pol.

Trip had told him that it was an idea that had sprung in his mind by studying some of the changes that Anna Hess had done to the Tele Transporter according to the instructions of the Bannerda Technicians. **(^) ** She, to tell the truth, said she hadn't been able to be much more than a mere performer, and Tucker said that he could understand her. But he had pulled out from those changes something nicely fit with some of his own ideas. He had spoken with T'Pol of that and so...

Damn! Those two together were really a helluva team!

But think! Being able to multiply enormously the transporter's operation field! And with the greatest exactitude, in the bargain. To the point of thinking - of trying, as they were doing now - to pick up a small object, a replica of_ Enterprise_, from Earth, with extreme precision, and take it on the real _Enterprise_, which currently was far from Earth much beyond the maximum action range of a common transporter. Just there, in _Enterprise_ transporter room.

By thinking about that, one felt goose bumps.

The leap forward that would have resulted would have been immense!

The star ships could have collected samples, things, objects, people on the planets and wherever it were considered to do so, from huge distances and working safely. And if, as both Trip and T'Pol claimed, the process could have been made bidirectional, there would have been no limits, both for spatial exploration and for myriads of other applications.

Sure. Right now, it was something extremely complicated. In practice it was necessary to make sure that, in one fell swoop, or almost, all the available energy - and only God could figure out how the hell those two intended to do – could be diverted to the transporter, specially reconfigured. But the engines, too, had been reconfigured, and a bunch of other stuff. And then it was involved route, and speed, and inertial flight, and accurate positioning and God, again only He, knew how many other things.

Oh, not that he did not understand just anything, however... well, it was not even that he understood just everything.

But, all in all, he was _only_ the Captain, he was not the 'Engineer Sorcerer', or Lady 'Vulcan Science Well'.

Anyway it was, at the present state of things, it was important to show that it could work. Then, if had been so, both Trip and T'Pol said they would have worked hard to simplify the process, so that all those complications could have been avoided. Well, there was just to hope that everything would have gone the right way, not only for the progress that would have resulted, but also ... well, yes, also for Trip. And for T'Pol.

And even for him himself. He had gone to bat for them. He had exposed himself personally. As if it were not enough yet, all he had had to do, and also Soval, so that, unknown to the world, especially hidden to those damn Terraprimers, on his ship, on _Enterprise_, there could be a married couple, a human man and a vulcan woman bound together by the bond of marriage. And with double rite, too! Human and Vulcan.

And all this in spite of his jealousy!

But... but, yes. That was fine.

"Anna, proceed!"

The voice, tense and acute, of Trip startled him.

*_Here we go._* Archer found himself thinking about the huge amount of energy, which at that time was transiting to the Transporter in a very short time and accurately calculated.

"Trip! Now!"

Now it was the voice of T'Pol, very acute, even more than that of Trip. And, obviously, he was Trip and just Trip, for her. Commander Tucker my ass! He was _her_ Trip!

The action was starting at that precise moment.

Archer had a strange, sudden thought. What would have happened if the energy now available to the Tele Transporter had been higher than that calculated as necessary?

If it had not been enough, quite simply the test would have failed.

But if it had been more?

Stupid thought. It was not possible. All the energy available to the entire vessel, except that required to the vital support, was being used at that time.

From where on earth could ever it come, additional energy?

* * *

*_Stop it, man. You have sufficiently wept into your beer. Needless to die ahead of time_.*

He turned. *_To bed, come on._*

The darkness of the starless sky beyond the glass of the window drew him one last time.

Standing, he glared at it sideways.

It seemed to him, absurdly, that that darkness, up there, was calling him.

* * *

"**What…?**"

Malcolm's yelled question vanished in the din.

Archer barely had time to see the look of horror in the dilated eyes of T'Pol. He was hurled out of his command chair and rolled on the ground, but he managed to recover, swiftly. He jumped up in the middle of the bedlam that had suddenly become the bridge. However, no one had been blown away from his place; apparently this had happened to him alone.

Malcolm was already at work. "We have been hit. An extremely powerful burst of energy."

Archer barked. "T'Pol! Restore the energy levels! Immediately! Malcolm! Shields up! Immediately! Hess! The engines! Up and running! Immediately! Travis! Fast distancing manoeuvre. Immediately! Warp jump! Immediately! Maximum warp!"

He looked at T'Pol. She was motionless. "T'Pol! T'Pol! What the hell!"

She shook herself. Acted. In a moment, the power came back on the ship.

An instant and _Enterprise_ was away from the unknown vessel, suddenly appeared seemingly from nowhere, that now was possible to see on the screen. An instant yet, then a mighty wince swept the ship. The distorted view of warp enveloped them.

Several seconds went by.

Malcolm's voice was heard. "No one seems to follow us."

Archer looked around with a frown. "Exit from warp speed."

The normal space wrapped them again.

"No one, Captain. It seems that we were able to surprise them. Whoever they were, they have not had time to hit us again. The rush of energy that struck us was damn powerful; maybe it was not possible for them to use the remaining energy to follow us. And, despite our operating conditions, we have been very fast."

Archer nodded to Malcolm. He could not help but feel anger. How could this have happened? He could not even think to check first of all the possible damages to the ship and crewmen. "Nobody saw anything?" he snarled. He turned acrimonious towards T'Pol. "T'Pol. You were watching everything, did not you notice...?

Archer stopped suddenly.

T'Pol's face had assumed a gray colour. If she had been human she would have been waxen.

"T'Pol, what's up?"

Her voice sounded hesitant. To Archer seemed it was slightly shaking.

"Captain, I detected the onset of the rush of energy, even though I could not detect the source. But it was not possible to do anything. I have not even been able to say it, there hasn't been the time. And ..."

It was not an impression. She really teetered.

"T'Pol?"

"Captain..."

Now the Captain he was sure. There was a tremor in T'Pol's voice.

"At the time when we were hit, all the energy of the ship was being conveyed to the Tele Transporter. Captain, at that moment the ship was working as a giant conductor of energy. It absorbed an enormous amount of the energy of the discharge, which was diverted for the most part, practically in full, towards the transporter." - Her voice trembled patently. – "Towards Trip."

Archer understood. The eyes, widened in terror, of her, appeared vivid in his mind. Yes, he had understood. He had also understood her incomprehensible, unheard of for her, inaction.

He turned to Hoshi. "Damages?" His voice was harsh.

Hoshi looked at her instruments a second. She had already made a quick check. "Not many, Captain, apparently. Preliminary reports from the various sections speak of scarce and limited damages to objects and people. The discharge of energy seems to have left practically effects only on the bridge, against which it was directed, fortunately without anyone being seriously injured."

She glanced at the Captain, ignoring his grazes. "But..." - Also her voice trembled. – …the reports of the neighbouring sections say that the access corridor to the transporter room is totally impassable and it's impossible to access the room."

Hoshi stopped. But she had not yet said all. It was clear as the light of the sun.

"Then? Spit it out, Ensign!"

Hoshi swallowed. "The reports say that the door has been unhinged and propelled into the middle of the hallway and that, from the doorway, flames and dense smoke are visible inside, and... and also that, irregularly, it can be heard noise of explosions."

It was possible to hear it clearly. A stifled groan, from behind the Captain, from where there was T'Pol.

"The rescue team in charge is already at work." Quickly. And loudly and strongly. So Hoshi hastened to speak again. And as she said it, her look was not addressed to the Captain.

"Trip!"

Archer turned around. T'Pol was on her feet, in front of the wall where there was the intercom, her face practically attached to it.

"Trip! TRIP! **TRIP!**"

There was no breath in answer.

"Trip! Commander! **Commander Tucker!**"

There was even something as an imperious prayer in her tone.

Archer walked over to her. He put his hand on her shoulder. She turned and looked up at him. Archer was able to see well. Something wet gleamed in her eyes. "Captain... the Bond is silent."

Archer spoke softly. "Come on, T'Pol. Let's go to see ... how's Trip."

He turned to Malcolm. "The bridge is yours, Mr. Reed. Tell the doctor to go hot-foot towards the transporter room."

He did not stay to wait for Malcolm's response. He rushed quickly behind T'Pol who had already leapt away like a bat out of hell.

* * *

_**End of Part One.**_

_**TBC in part Two**_

**oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo****oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

_Ineluctable? Ineluctable ... what?_

* * *

**(^)Have you by chance read what I've written so far of "In the Hall of the Mountain King"? No? Well, then do it, please, otherwise how do you figure out who hell the Bannerdas are? And then ... well, believe me, that story is not bad at all.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Ineluctable**

**By Asso**

**Part Two**

* * *

_It is short, I know, but there was no way to go further, for now._

* * *

**oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

The hallway was...

T'Pol did not remember having seen such a mess since when _Enterprise_ had been so badly damaged by the attack of Xindi Reptilians, but, frankly, she did not linger even for a moment to make such a comparison. All she was able to think was '_**Clear off this damn corridor of debris and any obstacles! Fast, fast, fast! Let's go inside! Let's go to rescue Trip! **_'

But she didn't scream aloud what her brain yelled; she very simply rushed to do what her soul commanded her to do.

The Captain did not stop her when he saw her join the men and women who were already working to the utmost to free up the hallway. He did not say anything in seeing her grab with her hands the debris, frantically striving for removing them, deaf to the logical recall of her Vulcan mind.

His gaze could not break away from that door off its hinges and distorted lying in the middle, away from the transporter room.

Which could it have been, the terrific violence that had been able to unhinge it from its hinges and to catapult it away in the middle of the hallway? How could ever Trip have been able to survive such an outbreak of violence?

And, even if he had succeeded...

Archer's eyes went on the empty bay of the door, on the flames that could be seen beyond it.

... What the odds were of finding him still alive? In the midst of those flames, into that thick smoke that took away your breath even there, in the corridor?

The dull sound of a muffled explosion coming from inside the room startled him.

Everyone stopped, all eyes fixed on the vacant doorway, on the flames, on the spirals of smoke into the room.

Everyone quit working, under the pale blue flashes of the electrical discharges of the destroyed control panels, which followed one another adding their sinister light to that of the flames, impossible to blow out at a distance, by remote-control.

Because nothing was working anymore, in there.

"C'mon!" T'Pol's voice, shrill, unrecognizable, overpowered the silence of men and the noise of things. "Let's not waste time! We do not stop!"

And no one was surprised, no one thought for even just one moment what on earth was happening to the First Officer. All threw themselves again headlong into the battle against the rubble and against the clock. Stubbornly, obstinately, mulishly. With lasers, phasers, robots. Levers, shovels. Hands.

"Commander Tucker has a thick skin, Captain."

Archer turned, startled by the voice of the doctor, right behind him.

The Captain stared at him for a long moment, at the doctor's tense and hard face, at his lively eyes and deep, mirror of the leaden thoughts that the doctor had read inside him.

Archer's voice was a murmur filled with bitterness. "T'Pol says that the Bond is silent, Doctor."

The doctor turned his gaze on T'Pol.

He watched her for a moment while, forgetful of everything, she struggled to move obstacles, while encouraged, incited. With imperious frenzy.

Phlox's eyes went back on Archer. "The Bond is silent, but she is going mad, is striving up to death, to reach her... - The doctor paused very shortly and then he accentuated strongly the word. - _Adun_."

Archer was taken aback. Then he realized. "Doctor, you want to say that ..."

"He is still alive, Captain. Because, otherwise, T'Pol, her mind..."

Clear, strong, vivid, the image appeared in Archer's mind of T'Pol, of the knife she had aimed to her own throat when... **(^)**

"Would sink in the dark."

"Yes, Captain. Outliving his natural death... maybe. But outliving his violent death, never, if not, perhaps, under the powerful push of some compelling need, like the need to have care of a son given her by him. We could touch with hand such an occurrence, we have experienced it firsthand.**(^^) **See, Captain, I was forced to become very expert in this matter and the Bond between our two Commanders is the most intense vulcan Bond that has ever existed, I believe; that there's to think that never again will exist. Because it is made of pure love."

"But..."

"The Bond is silent, sure, but it does not speak because he, _his mind_, cannot speak. His soul, though, does it; _is doing it_. It speaks to hers. She does not know it, but her Katra yes."

The doctor stared gravely at the Captain's face. "Commander Tucker is still alive."

"Doctor..."

"For now, Captain."

*_For… now. _* Archer snapped. He pulled out his communicator.

"Malcolm!"

"Captain?"

"You and your experimental light cannon! Here! Immediately!"

There has been no hesitation in Malcolm's response.

"I'm on my way."

* * *

"All back! Away from here!"

Everyone obeyed, all ran away. Even the Captain.

Even T'Pol.

She would not, could not in any way be of impediment to Malcolm.

He put one knee on the ground, his weapon resting on his shoulder like a bazooka.

He had done with it only simulations. Now he would have experienced if it was so precise and destructive as he claimed - as he wished, now more than ever - that it were.

He took careful aim, he studied finely the firing's angle.

He had to clear the way. Had not to cause damage, serious, to the bulkheads or whatever else.

And he had to try to stay alive.

Easy, no?

_To hell!_

He fired.

* * *

"Mal!" Hoshi's voice was a whisper of relief in his communicator. "Finally! It's impossible to see anything from the bridge and you were silent! You didn't let your voice be heard!"

There was something sounding happy and together piqued and resentful, in Hoshi's tone.

Malcolm looked at the team that was rushing along the burning groove that his weapon had dug in the hallway, equipped with anti-smoking masks and fire extinguishers, with the captain and T'Pol - T'Pol of course - at its heels and the doctor a little behind them.

He had had to wait for the doctor to decide to let him be, before communicating with Hoshi and had also had to send the physician away in a little brusque manner. It was certainly not him who had most need of a physician, at that time.

He spoke softly into his communicator. "Everything okay, Hoshi. My weapon has done its duty."

"The way is..."

"Sufficiently free, yes. You can access the room. And it seems I didn't do too many damages."

He could clearly hear the sigh of relief from the other side. A rather short sigh, though. "Mal? And you? How are...?"

"I'm fine. My peel is hard."

"Mal..."

It was not convinced, Hoshi's voice. There was vivid worry in it.

"I'm fine, I told you." He was curt, he knew it. But he did not want her to get consumed in concern for him. There were other things to do now. It was not at all said that his task were finished, it was better for him to go to take a look in there. T'Pol, no matter that she was T'Pol, would not hold the spectacle of a Trip...

He drove away that thought from his mind.

And the Captain could maybe not be able to have enough lucidity. Unfortunately this had happened several times already, and there was to think that, although not in the same way one-time, Trip was still his friend.

And most importantly...

Malcolm frowned.

Most importantly, Trip was _his own_ friend.

"Hoshi."

"Mal?"

"The command is yours. I'm going to Trip."

"Mal!"

"Over and out, Ensign."

He put away his communicator. He ran a hand over his bloody forehead and over his hair burnt by the blaze of his weapon. He ignored the pain in his shoulder. There could maybe be something broken?

Bah. There would have been time to think about that.

He hurried toward the transporter room through the access way that he had managed to open.

* * *

They were inside, finally.

T'Pol did not know whether to be relieved to be at last there or to be prostrate.

*_Trip! Trip! My Ashayam! Why do not I feel you? I can not resist, I can not! I'm lost without you! T'hai'la, please, guide me to you! Make yourself heard! Tell me you're there!_*

She almost shouted.

*_**Tell me you're alive!**_*

The flames had lost their battle. The smoke was dissolving. The team men were busily working to restore at least some connection, but it was dark, still, profoundly dark.

The blades of the flashlights pierced the darkness, looking for, rummaging, into the impervious, impenetrable bedlam that the room had become, in the mass of rubble and debris, of shattered and molten glasses, of twisted metal sheets which cluttered every corner, which made unrecognizable every thing.

*_But why, why, why the Bond keeps silent? Why, Ashayam? Why!?__** WH…**_*

_What was that thing?_

There. On the tattered floor. Near those blackened metal sheets.

T'Pol stopped. She approached, guided by the light of her flashlight.

She bent.

She grabbed the object.

She turned it over in her hands.

Wide-eyed, she observed it.

A perfect reproduction on a reduced scale of _Enterprise_.

Bruised and burnt.

But it was that.

It had worked. HAD WORKED!

But then ... then, perhaps...

She looked at the metal sheets twisted and blackened, merged together. She inspected them in the light of her flashlight.

They seemed ... they were...

_They were what was left of the bulkheads of the transporter pad!_

Her eyes ran febrile along the twisted metal sheets piled on the floor.

A ... a foot! Protruding beneath them! His... his foot! It was his, it was his, it was his!

*_Oh Surak! Oh God of Men! I beg You, I beg You, I beg You!_*

"Captain! Malcolm! Doctor! All! ALL! Here! HERE! HERE! HERE!"

Her hands clawed the metal sheets, but as far as she was strong, as far as the despair multiplied her strength, she was not able to budge an inch those metal plates, tangled and stacked, fused together by the tremendous heat, by which they had been run over.

"Captain! Captain! He is here! Is here below! Maybe he's alive! MAYBE HE IS…"

Her voice broke down in the weeping.

Impossible to repress.

Dozens of hands gripped that metal still hot, as Phlox pulled her back, and tried to calm her. "T'Pol! T'Pol! Quiet you! QUIET YOU! You'll see. We will free him. Will free him! And we'll find him ..."

"Alive, doctor!"

T'Pol's hands gripped convulsively those of Phlox. "Alive! Is not it? Is not it? IS NOT IT?"

Her eyes full with tears stared at the doctor, bending over her, squatting on the broken floor.

"T'Pol..."

"IS NOT IT, DOCTOR!?"

They were whispers. Only the doctor could hear them.

Yet they were shouts.

"Devils of hell! It can not be done!" The Captain's harsh voice overhung every sound, even that of the thoughts. "It is impossible! They are merged together and with the floor! We should ..."

"Everyone back. That's to me."

All faces turned to Lieutenant Malcolm Reed.

T'Pol's eyes rose watching him. Archer grabbed his wrist. "Mal, what the hell do you want to do?"

Malcolm did not answer. He freed his wrist with a jerk. And acted.

His powerful phaser cut the metal sheets with the precision of a surgical scalpel. Exactly as much as it was needed.

"Now it can be done, Captain."

Archer did not speak; he nodded, in respect. "Come on! Again!"

All hands grasped again the metal sheets and under the joint efforts of all, little by little, they started to open, to get spread apart, to get up.

A head appeared. A face. Bruised and burnt.

T'Pol snapped on her feet. "Trip!"

She turned to the doctor, while all the others continued to make traction on the metal sheets. "Doctor ... is ... is ...?"

At that moment, it was heard clearly. A gasp.

T'Pol's eyes widened fearfully. "Phlox, he's back inside me!"

She turned to the others who were watching the closed eyes of that face that had moved. Just barely. But it had done it. "He is alive, is alive!"

She rushed to add her hands to those of others.

"You're alive, you're alive! And you'll be saved! _We will save you, Ashayam!_"

Efforts started again, with more vigour than before.

"Come on! Come on! So! So!" But there was no need for any incitement on the part of Captain. Malcolm didn't feel even longer the pain at the shoulder.

Abruptly the metal sheets buckled totally. They cracked open all of a sudden.

All fell back, having the resistance suddenly come to lack.

All, except Phlox, who remained to watch stunned what, in their abrupt split, the metal sheets had made possible that could be seen.

There was not only Commander Tucker there below.

Lying on him, belly down, there was another man.

He was lying further down than the Commander, so it had not been possible to notice his presence, when the head of that one had emerged.

But now it was possible to see well.

The men, one lying on the ground with his back, the other lying on him with his face down, were two.

The first, no matter how much burned, wounded, tattered in the body and in the uniform he could appear, was unequivocally Commander Tucker.

The second...

His face was hidden, buried against the chest of Commander Tucker. It could not be seen.

The doctor approached the two men on the ground, stepping over the metal sheets. He leaned on them while all the others, back on their feet, looked in complete bewilderment.

He brought close to the two his medical device. Without getting up, without turning, he spoke in a low voice. "He is alive, T'Pol."

He turned his head and looked at her. "He is alive."

He was stating the obvious, of course. Now, this was clear to everyone, but it was fair, much more than fair, that he affirmed it so clearly, that he externalized it, with such evidence, to T'Pol. She had need to hear it said so... peremptorily. And then, there was another thing. "And, incredible as it may seem, on a first summary examination, his conditions are serious, but not tremendously. It will be hard, but he will recover."

This, too, he owed to T'Pol.

He almost smiled. "Moreover, he has accustomed us to such events."

But, immediately, he returned extremely serious. His eyes lingered over everyone. "The other…"

His gaze rested for a moment on the man who was supposed not to be there, then came back on the bystanders, mute and in wait. "Even the other is alive." He paused one moment. "And he, too, seems being able to recover."

The doctor turned his head again towards the two men lying on the ground, then beckoned to the Captain. Immediately, Archer reached him. Carefully and gently, they put the man on his back, next to Commander Tucker.

It was clearly heard the stifled exclamation of T'Pol.

By the side of Charles Anthony Tucker the Third, it lay, perfectly recognizable under the light of the flashlights, no matter how much burned, wounded, tattered in the body and in the attire he could appear, Charles Antony Tucker the Third.

* * *

_**End of Part Two**_

_**TBC in Part Three**_

**ooooooooooooooooooooo**

_What!? But what the hell...?_

**oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

**(^)**_ Oh, ahem… you must forgive me, but you should read "Destiny" to understand this._

**(^^) **_Do you remember E2?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Ineluctable**

**By Asso**

_**Part Three**_

* * *

_Have you remained a little surprised in reading part two, my friends?_

_Well, then ... please read part three._

* * *

**ooooooooooooooooooooo**

Where ... what...?

He opened his eyes slowly. Blinked several times.

He had trouble realizing that he had consciousness. He struggled. Then, slowly, he began to emerge.

His eyes wandered without really watching anything. His body began to realize first, before than his mind.

He was on a bed.

His eyes got related with the environment and with the brain. This managed to interpret a bit what the eyes and the body were conveying to it.

On a hospital bed, precisely. Or something like that. Yes. A hospital. Or an infirmary. So he was...

His brain remembered.

His room. He remembered well. He was there, in his room. Yes was so. He was looking at the dark of the night beyond the window. Yes.

Then...

Then, all of a sudden, everything had disappeared. _Almost_ all of a sudden. Before, just before… a throb, a ... a contraction around... a ... a... the devil knew what. And then...

He remembered... strange sensations, lights, a sort of... of pain, too, which was not really pain.

Then... where the hell he had found himself, then? In the midst of ... in the midst of a circle of Dante's Inferno!

And in that chaos... yes, he remembered a man in front of him. He had been thrown against him. Just like that. Thrown, literally, against the man he had not even been able to see well.

And then he did not remember anything. Total darkness.

Up to now.

What the hell had happened? What the hell had happened to his brain? Hallucinations? Or... or what else?

On the other hand, if he was there, in that hospital bed, it meant that something had happened. Perforce.

To his body or his mind. Or to both.

He listened more carefully to his body, while his brain still had difficulty to concentrate on what his eyes were seeing, to decipher it.

He felt bruised, felt hurt a little everywhere. The hands...

He pulled slightly up his head with an effort to look at his hands...

His hands were bandaged. So then, something physical there was, evidently.

And also his head ... and the face ... yes, it seemed that they, too, were blindfolded.

_What had happened?_

And... and where was he?

Awake now, wide awake, his eyes turned all around, intent.

Yes, undoubtedly it was an infirmary. Very ... very aseptic. It was ... strange. It reminded him of something.

Control panels. Everywhere. All around. Also at the side of the bed where he lay.

And his arm ... he noticed for the first time ... his arm was attached to a drip.

His eyes looked at the sack, followed the drops slowly falling down within the infusion tubing.

Then, by now well alert, by now fully conscious though decidedly confused, he turned his head in search of...

Was there no one?

No, there was someone.

There. At the other side of the room, on the side opposite to that where he was.

He raised well his head, to be able to see well.

The beds were more than one, but no one was occupied except the one where there was him and the other, the one in front of his, not too close, indeed at some distance.

The lights were low, he could not see who there was in that other bed, but he saw very well that there was someone sitting next to it.

It looked like a woman, dressed... but how the hell was she dressed? An uniform? A uniform that reminded him...

But... but was he crazy? Or... or maybe was he dreaming?

But it was all so real! So real!

He dropped his head on the pillow, in the grip of confusion and... but of course!... and of fear!

Immediately he heard a noise.

It came from the direction where there was that other bed.

He raised his head again. He saw that the woman had gotten up. Yes, it was a woman. Even in that low light, the ... forms left no doubt.

Her right hand held, one could see it well, a hand of the man or woman who was in that other bed.

It seemed that she was looking at him. Evidently his movements had attracted her attention.

Without letting go of the hand of the person who was in that bed, the woman touched something on the headboard and the light in the room grew brighter.

Now it was possible to see better.

The woman was watching him.

He was able to see clearly her face.

_**Oh**__** good heavens**__**!**_

* * *

"Okay, we're all here. Let's take stock of the situation."

Archer's gaze alighted on all the bystanders, one by one.

Malcolm, with his shoulder bandaged and immobilized and with the head bundled up in a sort of turban made of medical bandages. He did not look too at ease, arranged in that way, which, in truth, did not sound at all strange for him.

Hoshi, very, very close to Malcolm. Well, of course, right?

Travis, always with his air of a fish out of water.

The doctor. Yes, even him. It was necessary that even on the conditions of the two ... Trips, it were made the point, about what should be done with them, or, rather, on what was the right course of action with them. The ship that had fired, the two _guests_ of the sickbay, were certainly not trivial matters and the Starfleet Command was already on the alert. And all things were intertwined with each other. The doctor had not objected to the fact to be there with them, because at present, exactly his words, there was not plenty to do for those two, medically speaking, and he could count both on the remote sensing systems and - above all - on the presence of T'Pol in the sickbay.

Yeah, T'Pol. She was not there with them. But, on the other hand, how could one demand from her not to stay in the infirmary, with her husband?

And then, she had already done enough, despite the more than logical state of worry and anxiety in which she was. Well controlled, of course, she was still T'Pol, but, not for this, not clear and evident, not only in his eyes or Malcolm's or Hoshi's or Travis' or of the Doctor, her closest friends, ultimately.

Damned of a Trip! Possible that he were always capable of getting into trouble like that? Now he was a married man, for the devil! He had to try to be a little more cautious, less reckless. There was not only him at stake, now. There was his wife! T'Pol!

Well, it was not the case to let himself be drawn. It was certainly not the fault of Trip this time. However the fact was ... well yes, the fact was that he seemed to be, for troubles and for getting hurt, like flypaper for flies; almost worse than his well-known reputation of being able to attract alien females. All alien females, just all. - Archer chuckled to himself. - Including the vulcan females. But, with such peculiar type of alien females, the poor Trip had ended up to have his goose cooked to a turn. Well! Not that he seemed being particularly grief-stricken, in this regard, did he?

The Captain's inner chuckle mingled with relief. He could afford to titter of the misadventures of Trip, because, thank God, he would have had a lucky escape once again. The doctor was accurate and sure, about this matter. Moreover, definitely, this time the engineer-always-in-trouble was not to blame.

The fault, the cause... Archer frowned visibly, all the good mood gone in an amen... was in that spaceship that had caused with its sudden and unexpected attack all that mess.

So then, it was from there, just from that ship, that one had to begin to make the point.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's see to list what we know for sure."

He began to enumerate, as his hands accompanied the scanning of every fact by showing the corresponding number with the fingers.

"First. In our space, I mean inside the boundaries of our solar system, we have been attacked by a starship that, clearly, was able to evade any surveillance system."

"Sir, with all due respect, it is difficult to think that it is possible for any surveillance system to intercept the arrival from deep space of a starship materializing in normal space by exiting the warp speed."

"This is true, Mr. Reed, and in a sense complicates things."

Malcolm nodded. "I agree with you, sir."

Hoshi blinked. She did not understand.

The doctor and Travis remained silent.

"Captain... Mal, I mean, sir ... on what do you agree?"

Archer's hand was set to show number two. "Ensign, we know that that ship appeared right there, completely unexpected. I mean, right there, where we were. And at that moment."

"Well, sure, but, forgive me, Captain, and with that?"

Malcolm intervened with stern seriousness "Allow me, Captain." He turned to Hoshi. "Listen to what the Captain said. We know that the ship appeared there and at that precise moment. Doesn't this sound suspect?"

This time it was Phlox, who stepped-in. "You want to mean that…"

"That the ship hasn't appeared there, at that moment, by accident. Exactly, Doctor."

"The expert analysis of Starfleet Command concurs with yours, Lieutenant."

"I am pleased that our analyses concur, Captain, but surely not about the significance of this concordance."

"Mal…" - This time Hoshi left aside any etiquette or formality. – "…you want to say that it was an attack ... programmed? I mean, planned in the cognizance that we would be there? At that moment? In those conditions?"

"Yes, Hoshi. That ship - its principals - knew exactly what they were doing. They were aware of the fact that _Enterprise_ would be found there, in that moment, unprepared and also, probably, unable to react. We owe our salvation to our promptness, to the quick reflexes with which the Captain and we all have been capable of handling the situation."

"But… but this would mean..."

"That there is someone on Earth, and most likely in the high commands, who is in cahoots with someone who does not belong to the Earth and who of Earth is enemy. What you think is right, Ensign." The Captain turned to Malcolm. "You're right, Lieutenant, on the whole line. The skilfulness you gained from your past, doesn't fail you."

"Oh... hem... thank you, sir."

Archer watched gravely his officers. "We have an enemy out there, ladies and gentlemen, this is manifest. But the matter is that it is an enemy capable of knowing our moves, and also of acting advisedly, with knowledge of the facts, in order to achieve maximum results with minimum effort. The surveillance system would have failed in detecting the arrival of a starship from deep space at the moment of its materialization out of the warp speed even if this had occurred in the vicinity of the Earth, however, in this case, in the case of attack..."

"The answer would be not only immediate, but also destructive."

"Exactly, Mister Reed."

"The starship would have left the pens."

Archer could not help but smile, and was not the only one, at the colloquialism that had come out of the mouth of the Doctor. Gee whiz! By dint of spending great part of his time with the chief engineer to get him out of all the physical drawbacks into which he was in the habit of thrusting himself, the doctor had really ended up talking like him very often. Well, certainly not to the extent that, _logically_, it had happened to T'Pol, but, all in all...

"Instead not the Earth was attacked, but us."

"You're right, Doctor. And we were attacked in a well defined place and in a precise time. And also with a definite purpose. The elimination of _Enterprise_ would have meant the elimination of a quarter of our current starships fleet, and, most importantly, of a symbol, an emblem without equal for the entire Earth. About this, I can proudly say that there can be no doubt. The psychological effect would have been devastating, if this unknown enemy were been successful in achieving his aim."

Malcolm scratched the bandages on his head. "I have some suspicion about who might be an enemy capable of acting in this way."

Archer raised his eyebrow. "T'Pol has done extensive research, Lieutenant. There is no correspondence between the ship that attacked us, and any of the ships of which it is provided the enemy that you have in your head."

"Captain, this does not mean anything. We were able to experience firsthand, and especially I myself and Commander Tucker, what they are capable of."

Hoshi could not help but speak with vehemence. "They who?"

Then she understood. Her Malcolm and Trip had had to face together ... "The Romulans!"

"Sure, it's a well-founded hypothesis, Mr. Reed. That the Romulans have expansionist ambitions is a fact. That they fear that the coalition of planets that has arisen and that is slowly getting stronger is another fact. That they may have plans to prevent such a coalition grow and be strengthened over time is, again, a further fact. The past events and the reports of our intelligence services speak clearly, even if the Romulan Empire is impenetrable to the point that you do not even know how the Romulans are made."

"And it is a fact that hitting Earth would mean hitting the motor itself of the coalition."

"Just like that, Doctor. And destroying_ Enterprise_, as the Captain said, would have had a tremendous impact on Earth."

"Without the need to professedly come out in the open and to take action en masse, Mr. Reed."

"Yes, Doctor. And, over all..."

"Over all, even with the possibility to obtain another result, not at all secondary, and absolutely in the direction desired by them, namely the deterioration of the motor of the coalition."

"Yes, Captain, it is so. The rekindling of hatred, prejudices and fears on the part of Earth against the Aliens."

"The Terraprimers!"

"That's right, Ensign. Defeated, but not beaten. We know it, unfortunately."

"Really the maximum results with minimum effort, as you said, Captain."

"Just like that, Doctor."

"But you have also said that the ship, according to T'Pol, does not remember any of the vessels of the Romulans."

"Yes, Doctor, but, admittedly, as Mr. Reed pointed out, this means little, because it is own of the Romulans the not acting openly, but disguising, showing things not as they actually are."

"Yeah. And also infiltrating in the motor centres of other planets. We have already seen it."

"Once again yes, doctor. Your statement fits perfectly."

"Mh, I do not know if I should thank you for the compliment, Captain."

"But it's so, Doctor. The Captain is quite right; your remark fits like a glove. And, apparently, we can talk about infiltration of the motor centres even in this case. That's right, Captain?"

"Yes, Mr. Reed."

"So..."

"So, Mr. Reed, I think exactly like you, and also the high command of Starfleet, or, rather, those people of the high command with whom I preferred to talk. Trusting is obviously good, but not trusting is better, if things are in the terms we think. And Soval agrees with me."

"Soval?"

"Yes, Soval, Mr. Reed."

"Mh, you have asked him for advice?"

"Yes." Archer raised his eyebrow again. And he himself noticed it, too. Damn! It had to be said that if Trip had his influence on all, included the Doctor, T'Pol was no less so! "Why, Mr. Reed? Does that surprise you?"

"Uh, no. No, certainly. Mh, well ... yes, well ... Well, Captain, let me say that it seems that your ideas about Vulcans are rather changed."

"For this matter, Mr. Reed, let me say that even the views of Soval in regard to Humans seem to be rather changed."

"Sir?"

"You should have seen the decidedly worried face of Soval, even if he desperately tried to hide it, when I informed him of the umpteenth '_problem _' of Commander Tucker."

"Ah."

"And the unequivocal solicitude with which he inquired about his condition and his chances of recovery."

Hoshi could not help but laugh. "Eh, Trip ... I mean, Commander Tucker definitely has something more."

Malcolm turned his head sharply to Hoshi. "Really, Ensign?"

"Oh ... ah ... Well, but ... there are other people who have something that he has not."

"I see."

Archer laughed openly. The situation was undoubtedly serious, but he had, _painfully_, learned that being able to laugh and joke even in the most serious circumstances, was not at all a bad thing. Trip had been a really good teacher in this regard.

Sure. And if he had been able to be so again - the exuberant and eclectic and brilliant Trip - after the death of his sister, he owed this to T'Pol, just as T'Pol owed to him her ability to be able to rejoice in feelings and emotions without fear of being destroyed. She, herself, had revealed this to him.

And just… just as she owed to Trip the joy of being able to love. This, she had never stated aloud, but it was so obvious! Obvious, at least, as the love that Trip felt for her. As that that she felt for him.

What would have they been, those two, deprived the one of the other? And what ... what would have they been - he, Archer, and the doctor, and Malcolm, and Hoshi ... all ... deprived of them? Of Trip and T'Pol?

Trip absolutely had to heal! But the doctor was sure of that. Yes! He was absolutely sure!

Well, nuff said. It was time to get down to business. "Ladies and gentlemen, Soval shared my, and our, assumptions, which are the same ones that our first officer, T'Pol, expressed to me. I felt it was right and necessary even fathom your opinions, and I see that you all agree. I do not doubt that all of you will agree also on the line of action which both Soval and I believe that we should follow."

It was the time of Malcolm, to arch his eyebrow. "Captain, this means that you have already established the line of action?"

"Yes."

"So, let me, Captain, why this '_council of war_'?"

Archer looked seriously at his Tactical Officer. "Mal." - Yes, Mal. – "Please believe me when I say that I would not hesitate to change the course of action decided by me if you weren't in agreement with me and if in your perplexity I were able to recognize some reasonable objections. However, a course of action must be established, and this task, albeit taking into account the views of all, is mine."

Malcolm returned the severe gaze of the Captain. "All right, sir. Please, let us know."

"Soval, I have no difficulty admitting it, suggested me to keep away _Enterprise_ from Earth for the moment, as well as it should be done by all other our major ships. I have already informed T'Pol, who shares Soval's suggestion."

Silence on the part of all.

Archer took a deep breath. "The attack from space has failed, but, if it is true that within the ranks of Starfleet there is someone who works with our external enemy, it is not to be ruled out the possibility of another attack, this time launched on Earth itself, being we there, and, I think it is useless to underline it, the security systems are not foolproof and may themselves accommodate infiltrated quislings."

"Basically, we have to slip off, sir."

Archer smiled slightly, a little ill at ease. "In a sense. The President - the President, I repeat - agrees with me. We, and our other ships, are the most powerful deterrent that Earth has in hand. It is necessary that we become untraceable, acting in the meantime as sentinels, and while seeking a way to reach our enemy, or at least to know something more, so as to define a more complete plan of action. On Earth, meanwhile, it will operate so as to purge the fleet, and most likely not only it, from the quislings. I believe that your friend Harris will have to play a big role in this, Malcolm, as well as in trying to know more about what's behind all that."

"Mh ... ah ... sure. I understand, sir. And I agree. About everything. Malcolm looked around quickly. "We all agree. However…"

"Mr. Reed?"

"This also means that we should avoid all communication, both with Earth and with the other ships."

"That's right, Mr. Reed. We will act as independent units."

"But how do we know things that would be appropriate for us to know? For us and for others too?"

Archer smiled heartily. "Mr. Reed, when I told you that Soval's attitude towards Humans has changed, I wasn't telling fibs."

Four pairs of eyes stared questioningly at the Captain. It was Malcolm's turn to raise his eyebrow. "Sir?

"Vulcan ships certainly will not disappear from the face of the universe, nor even less, the Vulcan compound on Earth. Communications between Terrans and Vulcans will not stop, of course."

It was time of Malcolm to smile. "Understood. I see that Soval has really changed, sir."

"All has happened in recent times both on Earth and on Vulcan, Mr. Reed, has not passed in vain and it is to believe that the bond that is got created between Trip and T'Pol has played a lot."

Archer looked thoughtfully at the others.

Yes, the bridge had been built and the pillars that supported it were unshakable. No one would have believed it possible to happen, but it had happened, and it was something that could not be ignored. Now, there was nothing to do, for all others, Humans and Vulcans, but go along that bridge. There would have been resistances, even harsh; fights; blood, too; yes, it was possible. But the results of such idiocies would have amounted to... a flying fuck! Behold! Crossing over on that bridge was now...

It was _ineluctable_.

The silence around told the Captain that everyone at that time was contemplating in own mind what he was contemplating in his.

He shook himself. He regained control of the course of his thoughts. "Soval, but I would say the Vulcans on the whole, have _really_ changed. They became, though obviously not all, collaborative. Highly collaborative. At least, thus it's certainly Soval.

Archer became extremely serious. "And he, like us, believes in the coalition. And he fears, very strongly, the Romulans. And T'Pau has confidence in him."

The Captain spoke vigorously. "Vulcans will be our ears."

_Our ears. _Those words ricocheted in the silence of the room.

Archer nodded forcefully. "If it will be necessary that we know something, then we'll know through them, but, as a rule, we won't communicate with anyone, we will let to the evaluation of the Vulcans the opportunity to break the communication silence. Of course, we too will evaluate if the case will occur to emerge from the shadows, if we will deem to have in our hands something requiring us to do so."

Silence. Still. Then… "All right, sir, but ..."

All turned towards Hoshi.

"Ensign?"

"What will we do with Trip?" There was no need to be formal. No. It was just not the case. "I mean... there, in the infirmary, there are two Trips. Will we be ... will we be able to handle the situation... alone?"

"Hoshi..."

"Oh, do not get me wrong, Doctor! I know very well that one can not doubt your ability, but..."

"Ensign, do you fear that the… duplicate of the Commander could have something to do with our enemy?"

"I... I do not know, Captain"

"Just this. We do not know. This is on the list of things that we do not know, so, if our fears are true, a fortiori it is good that it's us, and only us, to handle the situation."

"Captain..."

"What do we know of what happened in the Tele transport room, Hoshi?" It was Malcolm. Her Malcolm, who spoke to her in a soft voice. "We know that the attempt worked, the presence of _Enterprise_'s model testifies to this. But we do not know anything else, except what T'Pol reckoned that may have happened capable of protecting Trip, i.e. the fortunate circumstance that the metal sheets of the transport platform fortunately may have worked as a shield to Trip, and to his double, from the hell that has been unleashed in the tele transport hall. But that's all we know, or rather, that we suppose. So, if what we suspect is true, we can not run risks of sort. The Doctor assured us that… our Trip, and… the other will recover well. We don't need to be on Earth to have better chances for that."

Hoshi nodded. "Yes, I understand. But how do we do...?"

"To know?"

"Yes, Captain."

"The two Trips. _They_ will explain it to us."

"And I think the time has come, Captain."

"Doctor?"

The doctor beckoned to the device at his wrist. "It is T'Pol, Captain. It seems that our duplicate is returning to the living world, how would say our ineffable Commander Tucker."

Archer stiffened, then straightened. "Good. Doctor, Lieutenant, Ensign. Let's go."

He turned for a moment before going out.

"Mr. Mayweather. This time the command is yours."

"Oh… oh yes, sir. I… I'll try to keep an eye on everything, even if I never did it."

Archer smiled slyly. "Glad to know that you are able to speak, Ensign."

Then he turned on his heel and walked out, followed by Malcolm, Hoshi and the doctor.

Travis did not have time to reply.

On the other hand, for that time, he had already spoken enough.

He ran a finger between the collar, the damn collar of his shirt - too tight, damn! Too tight! - and the sweaty skin of his neck.

It had been the greatest effort of his whole life!

* * *

She was watching him. Yes, she was watching him.

With those eyes surmounted by those oblique eyebrows.

With that face framed by that hair.

That hair coiffed in that so characteristic way.

That hair from which her ears protruded.

Two delicate ears.

_Two pointed ears!_

She was watching him.

Was scrutinizing him.

Intent and serious.

With that visage... **vulcan!**

He averted his gaze from those magnetic eyes.

He looked around. He watched more consciously what surrounded him.

The details.

He had already seen all that. Not quite the same, but he had already seen.

On the small screen.

In Star Trek!

He had gone mad! Of course!

Or he was dreaming. But a dream so real, so true... it could be nothing but madness!

_Oh God! God, God, God!_

What was going on? **What the hell was going on to him?**

Addressing to her? Speaking to her? Asking a vulcan female who could not exist how come she existed?

Sheer madness!

Just like that. Sheer madness!

But, if he had really gone mad, he might as well make the madman up to the bottom!

He turned his face toward her. She had not moved and was looking at him with an intensity that almost made him sick.

He tried to open his dry lips to speak.

He did not have time.

A noise. It seemed ... Yes, a door that opened.

He spun his head toward the source of the noise.

Four people were entering.

They walked quickly toward him.

They stopped in front of the bed on which he lay, looking seriously at him without speaking.

They were three men and a woman.

He almost did not realize that the woman and two men wore uniforms that somehow resembled those that were worn by the characters of Star Trek.

Almost did not realize that the only man who was not dressed in uniform, who looked like a doctor or something like that, the only one who seemed to smile, was not human.

He could not fully interiorize anything of all this.

He could only remain amazed to stare at the face of the higher, of the one who looked like the boss and was watching him with an inquiring gaze.

Oh heavens!

Crazy! Yes! This, he was! As mad as a hatter! There could be no doubt now!

_His former boss!_

* * *

_**End of Part Three**_

_**TBC in Part Four**_

**ooooooooooooooooooooo**

_Surprised, my friends? Well, surely not as our poor "duplicate" of Commander Tucker. That's for sure._

_Who knows how it will end?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Ineluctable**

**By Asso**

**Part Four**

* * *

_The hank starts to disentangle._

_And things to get complicated._

* * *

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooo

Doctor?"

And even the voice was that of his former boss.

At this point it became impossible to attempt to put some order in his brain.

He stopped trying, abandoned himself to the flow of events, whether they were true or false, the fruit of a dream or of madness. Or, even, real. Because in the end, even this could be. That everything were real. Like the infirmary he saw, like the bed where he lay, the drip that fed him, the bandages that wrapped him. Like the scattered pains he felt everywhere.

*_Take it easy, man. Let's see what the hell happens. Maybe..._* He clutched at this thought. *_... maybe an explanation - rational - there is._*

He watched one of the three men, the one whose clothing had made him think he could be a doctor, move at the peremptory, _hortatory_, question of his former... of the man whose appearance and whose voice were in all respects those of his former boss.

So, he was not mistaken, the man was a doctor. He saw him approach the panel that was next to his bed, clearly a surveillance medical device of his own vital parameters, and look closely at it.

He watched the doctor's face carefully, as this one was doing this. Now his attention was no longer so heavily skewed toward the other man, the one who looked like his former boss, as when the group had entered the infirmary. That face, the face of the doctor, was an alien face, that more alien could not be, although, in the complex, it was also human.

_Humanoid_, this way it would have been said… in Star Trek.

"Captain, with your permission, I go to T'Pol."

He turned to the woman who had spoken. He looked well also at her. She had a sweet face and two beautiful oriental eyes; worried, as worried had sounded her voice.

The man, his former boss, or, better, the Captain - once again he hadn't been mistaken - nodded convinced.

He watched the woman go away and get to the other woman, the one with the face of a Vulcan. T'Pol, evidently. This was to be her name.

He saw the human woman approach the Vulcan, with a doing ... oh, well, it was weird, but…. but yes, it was so… it seemed that there was something… something protective, in her attitude, some sort of a clear, conspicuous intent to show closeness; and, even weirder, if indeed that woman was a Vulcan, it looked as if she were accepting this attitude... as if she were, yes, as if she were glad of that.

Without leaving the hand of the one who was in that other bed and who, judging by the amount of drips beside the bed and the amount of bandages enveloping arms, hands and head, was not to be much better than him, if not, perhaps worse, the Vulcan - T'Pol – slightly, but manifestly, leaned on the arm with which the other woman, the Human, had encircled her shoulders.

His ideas got confused even more. He had just begun to think that maybe – _maybe_ - in reason of the substantiveness of his perceptions, a little earthly solidity in that absurd reality in which he had found himself, there could even be, and behold, everything was getting messing up under his nose.

A Vulcan could not act like that! He had never seen... had never seen anything like it in any episode of Star Trek. In any series!

It could not be true, and if it was not true, it was not true anything!

"It just seems that things are going well, man. And you, how do you feel?"

He almost jumped, at the sudden voice that was clearly apostrophizing him. He turned his head sharply, his gaze tense as his mind.

The doctor, it was him, lifted calmly his hand. "Take it easy, my dear. I did not mean to scare you. There is no reason to be afraid. You are among friends."

He took a deep breath, tried to relax. The doctor's voice was quiet, friendly, and his face was benign. "Okay? Is that better?"

There was nothing else to do. He had to play that game. True or false it was.

His voice came out hoarse. "I think so."

He saw that the doctor frowned at the sound of his voice. Why? What was wrong in his voice?

It was a matter of an instant. The doctor's face got smoothed out.

"Good. I am Doctor Phlox and I think that, if you agree, your present conditions allow us to ask you a few questions." The doctor smiled. A huge, inhuman smile. Not bad to look at, though. Far from it. "Okay? Can we? You know, I'm sure you have a bunch of questions for us, but we too for you. What do you say? Can we go?"

Well, if nothing else, that hallucination, still assuming it were such, was kind.

*_Come on, man. What have you got to lose?_* He nodded. "Shoot." And once again he saw the doctor's eyes get frowning in hearing his voice. He had to remember to ask why. But after. Yes, much better later on.

The doctor turned to the tall man he had called Captain, the one with the face and the voice he had previously known. In his previous… life. "Go, Captain."

Now there was just nothing else to do, he had to look well in the face that man. And so he did.

Even that one was doing the same thing towards him.

The man's eyes were hard and intent. He was standing up right in front of his bed, the other man, the one who had not yet spoken, his head partially wrapped by dressings as his, one shoulder and an arm immobilized in a retentive bandaging, a little behind him.

For a brief moment he, that man, the… Captain said nothing, as if he were pondering on what he had to say. Then he spoke. Loudly and strong.

"I am Jonathan Archer, Captain of starship _Enterprise_ NX-01 of Earth Starfleet."

_Even the name was the same!_

* * *

"Are you absolutely sure, Centurion?"

"I am, Admiral."

"Dismissed, Centurion."

The Centurion snapped in the military salute, turned on his heel and left the room.

So, it was so. The interceptions that had been picked up responded to true. The Terrans, to put it in their own way, had smelled the rat. They had figured out who was behind the attack - the _failed _attack at _Enterprise_ - and also the reasons for the attack. And also that the precise planning of the attack had been based on a network of quislings infiltrated into the fabric of the basal control ganglia of Earth, of Earth Starfleet itself.

And they had acted accordingly; they _were _acting accordingly.

Any communication that could be caught between Earth and the human starships, any communication between the starships themselves, had ceased.

It was a risky decision, but clever. This made him blind and deaf.

He could not know anything about what the ships were doing or about where they were. They were acting as independent units, under the watchful protection of the Vulcans. Of Soval. Which was unfortunately a further tangible proof of the by now existing operativeness of the alliance between worlds which was the thorn in the side of the Romulan Empire.

Easy to think that at that time the Terrans were working to identify the quislings and to dismantle the informative network he had asked Talok to organize, drawing on the knowledge on Humans that V'Las had given him and on his multifarious contacts, more or less legitimate, more or less known. Talok certainly was not a strategist, but as for to be a cunning weaver, had no equal. **(o)**

And the Humans would have made it. On this, there was no doubt. They were a young race, but the war and all the activities _satellites_ of the war were something they could teach everyone. They had an extra weapon. They were not afraid of their emotions, like Vulcans, nor were prey of them, as Vulcans and his countrymen and many others loved to think. They, more simply, _took advantage_ of their emotions, this they did. Using logic, too, but only at the right point. Just so. Not even by logic they let themselves be overwhelmed.

Humans were tremendously dangerous.

The Romulans really had reason to fear them, to fear for their ascent. They had every reason to try to prevent it.

In his mind, all this was very clear, as well as what was going to happen shortly thereafter. When the network of informants would have been torn down, the communications would have started again and everything would be back as before. Almost as before. Because at that point the Humans and their allies would have been fully conscious, would have known from the informants by them captured of how things were, they would have had irrefutable evidence, and the consequence would have been that they, the Humans, would have put in motion themselves to act in turn, in some way and with good reason, against the Romulan Empire, because this, from a possible feared threat, would have turned into a real threat, would have taken the connotation of a veritable enemy.

An enemy to combat.

Openly.

Maybe inducing it to make the first move. Many and increasingly were the Romulans champing at the bit and thinking it was time to come out in plain view, in a manner worthy of the breed of conquering warriors that they were.

And at that point... difficult, very difficult, and even… unpleasant, to predict what might have happened. The victory was not a thing to be given so taken for granted, even though this was something really hard to swallow.

In the final analysis, therefore, the failure of the mission he had conceived and directed, which he had prepared with the not costless collaboration of Talok over the course of more than a little time, could have lead to the outbreak of hostilities between the Empire and the Humans in a open way, and just in the conditions that, with his mission, he had tried to avoid, i.e. in conditions of numerical inferiority on the part of the Empire, because at the side of the Humans there would have been their allies. Humans most likely would have managed to make them become an active part of the war, by exploiting to their advantage their acquired knowledge of the new, and failed, act of hostility of the Empire.

The condemnation and the vituperation of his compatriots against him would be inevitable and terrible, would have caved down upon him, nefarious and terrific. And he himself could not have done but condemn and vituperate himself.

That was the scenario that was brewing. It was not said that his predictions would have actually come true, but it was quite logical and possible.

This was not to happen. He had not been capable of shaking off the damage caused by the failure of the other, previous mission conceived by him substantially with the same purpose; had not been capable of convincing some influential senators, who, despite his misfortune, still esteemed his strategic skills, to get him out of prison, to grant him another chance…

He had not done all this for nothing, to end up once again empty-handed.

He smirked bitterly. What a ridiculous understatement.

_To end his days in the torment._

Yes. This sounded… more suitable.

He lowered his head on his chest, his brain on the boil.

There was still a little time before Humans be able to get to the bottom of all, before the network of informants be dismantled.

How much time, he did not know. However, there was.

He had to think of something.

And he had to do it quickly.

Valdore turned towards the large porthole and looked out into the dark and cold space, looking for inspiration.

* * *

He could not explain what took him, but nevertheless he found himself to say it. "What happened to _Enterprise _NCC-1701 and its Captain, James Kirk?"

The man, Captain Jonathan Archer - Captain! Of the starship _Enterprise_ NX-01 of Earth Starfleet! He! His bigoted, incredulous, idiotic former boss! The one who said that the space flights were nonsense. Bullshit! **Blasphemies!** - He, then, looked at him with an obvious lack of understanding.

"Forget it, Captain." If he could, he would have shrugged. It was already pretty surreal that way, needless to further complicate his life. He almost laughed at this thought.

The Captain sighed. It was evident the effort he made to speak calmly. "I can not, as you would like, _forget it_, so I'll ask you to explain what you wanted to say. But I think it is better to go step by step."

He paused a moment, then continued. "What the doctor said is true, you're among friends. Potentially." He raised his eyebrow staring at him designedly. "Now, though, I want to know if _you_ are a friend."

This time, he really laughed, though it was not without consequences the resultant wince that ran along his chest in pain. "Friend? Me? Or a foe? I do not even know where I am!"

"I told you where you are, you're on..."

"I get it! But for me this is crazy!"

"Crazy?"

"Captain… Archer. For me all this ... everything, absolutely everything... it's crazy."

"What do you mean?"

"Captain! You, all of you, this place ... this ship! ... can not exist!"

"It is possible that we do not exist in your reality." It was the man with the immobilized shoulder, who had spoken. He had taken a step forward and was now in full light. Had an excavated face and hard eyes. He did not look bad, but the impression he gave was that of a man who was better to have as a friend. "But this does not mean that we do not exist."

"My reality?"

The Captain took again the word. "We do not know where you come from, but there are infinite worlds in space, and... infinite realities. We have been able to experience it in person. Certainly, I do not know if you can understand." The Captain frowned patently. "Or if you pretend not to understand."

Ah, so it was so. Those were friends, oh certainly, of course. But up to a certain point. Friends... on condition that he had been able to prove to be not someone they could not trust. Well, this wasn't bad at all, after all. Maybe he was mad, but that madness possessed a logic definitely anything but mad. Perhaps, after all, something rational to cling to there was for real, though... though a vulcan female willing to the human closeness, even desirous to it... well, that would have been without doubt the most difficult thing to pigeonhole in a rational scheme. Still provided that he wasn't tricking himself, wasn't making a blunder about what he had seen her do.

But this…. this was a challenge for his mind.

_Everything_ was a challenge for his mind.

Yes, a... tremendous ... _wonderful_ challenge.

Suddenly he felt better. Everything was and continued to be crazy, but ... behold… but it was as if he felt in his element, really, for the first time in his life. His intelligence was stimulated, his brain aimed to understand, to unsnarl the hank.

And this ... was beautiful.

Sure, maybe he was doing nothing but wallow in the dark depths of his madness, but who cared, in a sense? Wasn't this better than the squalid world, the bleak reality in which he had found himself before? After all, question was just of having the guts to accept as true what was happening. And it could be done.

Yeah. _He could make it._

He looked at the Captain, at that face that he knew well, almost with an air of defiance. "I understand very well." He smiled. "But, you see, Captain, in my reality, you and your companions, or, rather, not exactly you and they, exist. But..." His smile deepened. "Your world is a fictional world. You are fictional characters. Like Captain James Kirk of _Enterprise_ NCC-1701."

His smile widened even more. "Well, to tell you the truth, in my reality you are not a fictional character, Captain. You exist for real, just you, for what I know. But one can not really say that your equivalent in my reality is exactly what you are in this."

Suddenly he realized the unreal absurdity of what he was saying. The smile died on his lips. But what the hell was he doing? His voice came out hoarse. "Now, if you would be so kind to give me some plausible explanation..."

For some moments silence reigned in the room. The doctor, the captain, the man with the look hard and impenetrable, they all were watching him rather sullenly and... well, certainly more than merely puzzled. Well, perforce. The idea of being, in his world, fictional characters could not but be just as shocking for them as it was for him the idea that the fantasy world of his reality was anything but a fantasy world in this. And best let aside for now any questions on how the hell he had done to get there. Still providing that there was some response.

It was the man with the glacial gaze who recovered first. "Fictional?"

He drew a long breath. Well, if nothing else, a meeting ground had been found. True or false it was all that, they were coming to the point. Now, it was necessary for him to speak frankly and clearly. And with plausibility. After all those men and those women couldn't not have the same doubts, and also, in a sense, the same fears that he had. He was questioning their existence!

"I know the starship _Enterprise_, or rather not exactly this starship _Enterprise_, but some other starships that bear this name. And I know their Captains, and many of the members of their crews. The James Kirk I have mentioned is precisely the captain of the starship _Enterprise_ NCC-1701 of the Earth Starfleet."

He made a brief pause. It was really the case.

"But, for me, all of these _Enterprises_, all their crews, all of their Captains, are not real. They are part of a television series, or better, of various television series, which altogether are known under the name of Star Trek. It comes to very popular series with many fans. Including ... including myself."

Was it for that? Was he over there, because he loved Star Trek and would have liked that the Star Trek world were real? But then, was he acting and talking in a beautiful dream that his mind as manufactured to take him away from the reality of his world, so ugly - so much uglier, in those moments - or had he really ended up in the real world, and so the one who was not true was, in the end, exactly him? Was he, the dream? Was his own world, the world that had constituted until then his reality, that was not true?

Or was there something he did not understand or did not know and that could explain everything?

He gasped, but managed to keep some lucidity, if so it could be said. There was no answer at present if not continuing to try to keep calm and reason in that situation completely divorced from rationality.

And... - once again this thought made its way into his mind - ...it was really a great challenge and beautiful, that was worth to deal with, regardless of the necessity of having to do it just because of the bloody mess of a predicament in which he found himself.

This time it was the Captain who reacted first to his words. "So..." - It could not be said that his voice were perfectly firm. – "So, if I understand correctly, in the world from which you come, we exist only as characters of fantasy?"

"Well, actually I do not know any of you. I know other characters. Maybe..." - Absurd? Well, that was an understatement! – "Maybe... the series that includes you and your adventures has not yet appeared on the TV in my world."

The going up and down of the Adam's apple of the Captain was clearly visible. "But you said that I, just I, instead exist, for real, even in your reality."

*_Oh oh._* "Yes, Captain. It is true."

"But then..."

"But you are not surely Captain Jonathan Archer of the starship _Enterprise_ NX-01 of Earth Starfleet."

"No?"

"No."

"And who the hell...?"

"You are, much more slavishly, Mr. Jonathan Archer, Director of the Technical Office of the biggest production company of aero-naval components of the world... ahem of my world. My boss."

The Captain winced. "Your boss?"

"Well actually my ex-boss, because..."

"May I know what is your name?"

He turned his head at the sudden question. None of those who were standing in front of his bed had made it. It had been another person. It had been the Vulcan woman. That voice so low - _so warm_ - was hers. She was there, next to the infirmary bed where he was, very close. Totally taken by everything was happening, he had not noticed that she had approached, the other woman, the one human, right behind her, always with that attitude of closeness, of silent, discreet, tactful, protectiveness.

She was looking at him. He could see her eyes very well now. They were large, deep, bright.

Animated by an intense splendour.

They seemed to eagerly wait for his answer.

He stammered. "I am… I am… Ch…Charles Tucker the… the third. But… but I'm called…"

"Trip."

A whisper. Full of something that could not be defined. Something that warmed to the point to be hurting.

He goggled. He was only able to reply, in a whisper, he too. "Yes."

There was silence. Imbued with thoughts. From everyone.

In his mind unanswered questions overlapped, and the last - how it was possible that his nickname had surfaced on her lips; how, from where, she could have known it - was the question queen.

"Well, I think it is enough."

It was the voice of the doctor. A little high-pitched, almost falsetto, it broke the bated silence and the dizzy circle of fuzzy questions in his brain.

All eyes turned toward him.

He cleared his throat. "We have already done a lot of questions and…" - He coughed. _ "... we had some responses. Which have led to the need for further questions. I understand this. But our friend here - because on the fact that he is not an enemy I think we can all agree - has already done even too much. He needs to rest, now."

The doctor turned his alien face, merry and kind, toward him. "You need to rest, boy, and to try to settle in your mind the jumble of thoughts that surely are swelling up within you."

The physician raised his head. His gaze ran on everyone. "And so do we. Everyone away. Only I will remain here." - He laughed. – "To do my job."

Then he became serious again. Very serious. He looked gravely at the Vulcan. "Away you too, T'Pol. To sleep. You have absolutely need of it." - He twinkled. Very... humanly. – "Now more than ever."

His hand rose imperiously to silence the clear hint of replication that was rising on the mouth of the Vulcan. "I do not admit any objections. In this matter, it's me who commands."

His voice softened. "Do not worry, T'Pol. I am not going to let him wake up, without you being close to him." - He smiled. – "And it will be much nicer, if you'll be fresh and rested at that time."

He clapped his hands with noisy cheerfulness. "Everyone out! Immediately!"

The Captain watched him and didn't move. He raised his eyebrow at the reluctant Captain. "Captain?"

The man looked at him with a vacuous expression.

Well, maybe it was not only the name and appearance that Captain Jonathan Archer had in common with his former boss.

The doctor's eyebrow went down, along with the corners of his mouth. "I think I already said that in this matter the decisions lie with me."

The Captain remained still for a moment to look at the doctor with a frown. Then, the irritation took the place of the frown and then, finally, his face smoothed, a little forcibly, and he nodded, hinting an unconvinced half smile. The doctor nodded in turn, widening, he too, his lips in a mouth closed smile and, in conclusion of the whole pretty skit... abruptly the Captain turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

Mh, yes, definitely the man had not only the look and the name in common with his former boss. Even if… well, yes, well ... ultimately, in the end, he had come to terms, although with difficulty, with that sort of mental short-sightedness, of headstrong authoritarianism, that, with maximum likelihood, he shared with that one with whom he shared also physical features. He had understood, all in all, and had yielded, albeit unwillingly and peevishly, to the voice of reason. So...well…maybe a little of hope, it seemed he could have.

But much as, of course, even in the situation he was in, he hadn't been able but follow with the greatest interest the exchange occurred between the doctor and the Captain, his attention got drawn to what was happening now, and much more and with much more reason, because much more than that of the Captain it was to be watched the behaviour of the Vulcan, of T'Pol, and that of others towards her.

Not even she had given sign of wanting to move, however, no one seemed to pick on.

His head resting on the pillow, he could clearly see the doctor watch her with a benevolent expression, of gentle reproachful. "T'Pol?" The physician's voice rang mild.

She nodded. Did nothing more. But in that gesture, gracious and solemn, that, without it being possible to grasp the how and why, appeared suffused with a sort of impalpable, sweet and even wistful resignation, he could see an entire, unexpected, unsuspected world unfolding to him.

Just a glimmer, a chink, that, right after, widened in a horizon of infinity.

The vulcan woman turned her face toward the one who lay in that other bed.

It was clear now. It was a _him_. And... it was equally clear ... it was _her_ him. What he saw the Vulcan do, the way she did, could not leave room for doubt.

He was able to see well the gaze with which she looked at that form bandaged and silent, whose chest could be seen rising and falling, softly, quietly, slowly, rhythmically – imperceptibly - with the breath, on that bed.

He could not find words, concepts, that could fully express that gaze of love.

Because this, it was.

She could also be nothing more than a figment of his lost mind, or, if it wasn't so, then she could also be a real Vulcan, in the flesh, a being, a woman in that case, who he knew, from what he had seen and read in the world he had lived until then, whether it was true or not, should have been devoid of feelings and emotions or, at least, should have endeavoured to appear so.

But in that gaze, there was nothing that could let doubt.

It was a gaze of unlimited love.

The gaze of love of a woman in love addressed to her love.

Whose appearance, whose physical features, whose visage… he could not see.

And... he didn't knew, wasn't able to understand... why at that moment, just at that moment, that name ... that nickname ... _his own nickname_ ... that she ... _that she knew_ ... started to stir in his mind.

But it was a matter of a second. He not even tried to give a tiny bit of sharpness to the outline of the tenuous shadow of the evanescent thought whirling deep down in his brain, because that look of her... that alone was worth so much to make him think that if what was happening was not true, it would have been the greatest pity of the world ... that look...

That look…

His fears, his frustration to be there, without knowing why, without understanding why, without even knowing if he really was there... faded. Vanished.

Nullified in that look of her, flung open into the infinity of love.

Eventually, her eyes ceased to stare with that gaze, soaked in immensity, at the shape lying on the other bed.

Slowly, they turned on him.

They looked at him for a long moment, with an intensity that he did not believe could exist, in front of which he almost found difficulty breathing.

Then, finally, the enchantment was shattered.

The other woman, the one human, with the sweet face and the oriental eyes, took the Vulcan by her elbow and shook it gently.

She roused herself. Looked away from him. Nodded again. Started to walk slowly to the exit door, without rejecting the slight and comforting touch the other woman offered her.

The two women went out, side by side, without turning.

The man, the one with the craggy face and the ice eyes, followed them, after having cast him one last look. Indefinitely strange.

He saw him disappear through the door. Straight.

The last thing he saw of him were his shoulders.

They looked like a barrier. An unbreakable protection barrier.

And he realized, couldn't have any doubt. The one who was resting on the other bed, waiting for being able to relish again that gaze of love, to luxuriate in it, to go into ecstasies in feeling enwrapped by it, could sleep soundly. Anyone who had even just thought of doing harm to those who were under the protection of that living barrier would have had to face those cold eyes and that face of granite.

And would have regretted to have been born.

Now in the infirmary had remained only the doctor.

For a few moments he stayed with his back turned to him, while looking at the door through which the others had come out.

Then he turned toward him.

* * *

And space gave Valdore the inspiration he was seeking.

* * *

"Here we are, T'Pol."

Hoshi turned to T'Pol with a familiarity that she would never have believed possible for her to have toward the Vulcan at the beginning of their adventure, when she had come into their lives.

But how much water had flowed under the bridge, how many things had happened since then. How much their lives had changed; their beliefs, their mutual relations.

How much _T'Pol _had changed. Much more than all of them.

How much the love had changed her.

Hoshi almost laughed in noticing that, in her tone, it was ringing even a touch of protection, almost motherly. But, to think well, it wasn't so much strange, after all.

One had to remain out of breath, thinking about the challenge that T'Pol had faced and won, paying an extremely high price, and the fact that, as she herself had said to her, the prize for her victory was such that never she would have turned back, that she would have faced the same challenge over and over again, to infinity, if necessary, this could not reduce a hair l 'enormity of that price.

How much she had had to struggle and suffer to understand and accept a change which so radically pushed her away from everything that she had been and that she thought she should have been!

And… how much respect she deserved, and friendship, and affection and closeness... and protection, yes, even this, for being so strong to want to be what she was now. For being willing to suffer for love. As now.

For accepting, ultimately, to be, and also to appear, weak.

She, just she. The strong T'Pol of Vulcan.

But, in reality, she was terribly strong, much stronger than any other Vulcan.

T'Pol was so strong to accept to be weak.

It was really a great honour, a treasure to relish and safeguard being able to be her friend.

Being able to offer support to her. "Now," – Hoshi pointed to the door of T'Pol's room – "go inside and rest. As the doctor said."

Hoshi laughed for real. "He was perfectly right in saying that it will be much nicer if, when he will wake up, Trip will find you beside him, fresh and rested."

T'Pol did not raise her eyebrow at the joke. Indeed, it seemed to Hoshi like if she were doing a hint of a smile in response.

The Vulcan merely limited herself to nod, once again

She went to the door and opened it, did as to come in, but stopped. She turned in the doorway.

"Lieutenant ..."

She had a strange look in her eyes.

She corrected herself. "Mal."

The person so unvulcanly called into question by the Vulcan had trouble to realize to have been called that way by her.

_Mal._

It was up to him arching the eyebrow. It was not the first time that T'Pol called him that, though, with that tone of voice, so soft, so gentle... well, she had never done.

A little uncertain, he came up to his Vulcan colleague.

"Yes, T'Pol?" Undertone, almost confidentially. Someway, he felt that it was right to speak to her in that way, at that time.

She went very close to him. Placed a hand, very, _very _gently, on his immobilized arm.

She raised her eyes to his face and stared at him. It was a look he had never seen in her eyes. Maybe Trip, but certainly not he. It was a look that seemed to say...

"Thank you."

She had said it! In a hushed whisper and soft.

Malcolm didn't know how to react; he could not do anything but remain silent.

T'Pol repeated it with more force, more aloud. "Thank you." And then, lastly, strong and plain... "Thank you with all my heart, Mal."

Oh this then! This was ... this was... Malcolm continued to shut up. Words failed him. With horror, he felt he was going to blush. He searched desperately for a way to slip away, tried with all his might to find something to say.

But T'Pol forestalled him. "You saved my Trip."

At last he made it. He spoke. And, of course, - damn it! - he was only capable of doing nothing else if not saying the most trivial of things that could be said. "Oh, well... yes." *_Oh, my God! Enough now!_*

But T'Pol gave him no respite! "You did not hesitate."

Finally he succeeded! In saying something sensible. "He is my friend, T'Pol." *_Stop it, now! Please_!*

But it was not enough. "You have faced the risk of dying to save him."

This time he snapped. "T'Pol! I told you he is my friend." And, thing to be not believed, he was also able to continue. "And then you and he ..."

But T'Pol did not give him time to finish. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him, gently but strongly, on the cheek.

Then she drew back. She looked at him again. A little uncomfortable, it could be seen. But not so much. She repeated it. In a very low voice. And full of genuine feeling. "Thank you, Mal."

Finally she turned quickly and quickly retreated into her room.

The door closed quietly behind her.

For a moment, Malcolm, remained still and in silence, trying to pull himself together.

He made it, finally. "Bloody hell! Not to be believed! "

He turned. "Hoshi! Have you seen? Huh? Have you seen? "

"I have seen, Lieutenant."

"But can you imagine? T'Pol who ki ..."

"I said that I saw, Lieutenant."

Suddenly Malcolm realized.

It... it was not at all warm, Hoshi's tone, and then... _Lieutenant?_ She did not call him ever so, if not when it was necessary to be formal. And now... well ... now, of formality there was not just the slightest shadow!

"Hoshi..." His look as well as his tone were puzzled and uncertain. "What's that?"

"You did it, finally, eh, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed?"

"Huh?"

"How is the kiss of a Vulcan female? Is it worth it?"

_Oh. Bloody hell! This then! "_Hoshi!" - No. More softly, maybe using the nickname that he reserved to her in private. – "My petite..."

"T'Pol is as petite as me. Maybe even more."

"But... but ... Hoshi! What are you saying?"

"Do you think I do not know how much you liked T'Pol? Indeed, how much you _like_ her? Am I wrong?"

"But ... but yes ... she is beautiful, sure, but ..."

"Ah, so you admit it! You like her!"

"Hoshi! Stop it! You're the one I love! It was… it was nothing but a kiss of gratitude!"

"But it was still a kiss."

"But Hoshi!"

"One can't say that you've drawn back."

"_But Hoshi!"_

"And it doesn't seem to me that you are much unhappy you've not done that."

"**But Hoshi!**"

"Anyway..." - Okay. It was enough. It was gorgeous when she managed to confuse him that way. – "Try to say it to me again."

"Say again... what?"

Hoshi smiled such that more one can not. "That the one you love, it's me."

Bloody hell! He had fallen again! Damn little, _**adorable**_, viper! One day or the other he would eventually kill her! Sure! He would have smothered her with kisses! And maybe a little later he would. He smiled back. Only she could make him smile like that. "The one I love is you, my petite."

Hoshi came close to Malcolm. Very dangerously close. She spoke seriously, but her eyes were laughing. "Mh, and okay. I could try to ignore what I saw. Unfortunately, there are dangerous tracks that can bring it back to my mind."

"Uh?"

Hoshi's smile could have broken the glass. Certainly not the heart of Malcolm. That was already broken. "Well, Mal. The Vulcan women do not use lipstick, but it seems that T'Pol doesn't disdain to resort to it, although very pale. I have to advise her not to overdo in going all out to be liked by Trip. She has really no need."

"What?" Malcolm brought his hand to his cheek, without realizing it. Then he laughed. "Even this is not to be believed, eh, my petite?"

"Apparently. But the problem, there is. How can we do?". Her eyes shone.

Malcolm played along her game. Obviously. He scratched his pumpkin. Through the bandages. "Mh, let's see. The easiest thing would seem to be rushing to wash my face, avoiding being seen before having done it."

"Mh." Hoshi wrinkled her nose. She came up a little yet. "Too much risk. Someone might see you."

"Right." Hoshi's face was now less than an inch from his chest. She was looking at his face with those beautiful oriental eyes from down up, as his head was bent down to watch hers and he could very well feel the fragrance of her body practically against his. "So what? Do you have any suggestions?"

"Mhh." Mal could feel Hoshi's eyelashes tickle the skin of his face as she spoke. "How says Trip? Nail drives out another."

"He says so?"

"Yes, he says so. And also 'Fight fire with fire'."

"Ah. And he is well knowledgeable about ways of saying."

"Yes, Mal, he is well knowledgeable."

"Then maybe ..."

"It should be followed ..."

"His advice."

"Yes." And to the words, Hoshi made follow the facts.

It was not a big fact. Just a peck. On the cheek. Right there, in the offending statement. But how sweet, while clinging to him!

And as had done T'Pol, Hoshi withdrew soon after. She took a step back, observing critically, hands on hips, the result of the 'fact'.

Ah, perfect! There was no sign of the previous 'fact'. Sure, the fact was that there was a track of the new fact. She smiled broadly at seeing the red imprint of her lips where before there was the faint imprint of the lips of T'Pol.

She looked at Malcolm with playful eyes. "Nail drives out another."

Malcolm brought back his hand to his cheek, withdrew it and examined it. The tips of his fingers were clearly red. "Hoshi!"

"Yes, Mal?"

"Now what?"

"Well, as Trip would say, never do things by halves." And, on impulse and passionately, she performed the other half. And Malcolm did not resist.

She drew back again and carefully dedicated herself to observe the new result.

Perfect! The red of her lips on the lips of Mal stood that it was a wonder!

"Hoshi!"

"Mal?"

A look of true horror was making nice view of itself into the eyes of her Mal. "But we are crazy! Here! In the hallway! In full view!"

Smile nicer than that which appeared on the face of Hoshi would be very difficult to find. "We are certainly not the first, Mal." A naughty laughter radiated in the air from her seductive mouth. "Someone, a girl friend of mine, has revealed it to me."

"A girl?"

"Yes"

"Your friend?"

"Yes"

"Who ..?"

"Suffice it to say that she comes from far away, Mal."

"From far away."

"Yes, Mal. Really from far away."

The eyes of the Lieutenant widened. "From... from Vulcan, by any chance?"

"They say the sin but not the sinner, again to quote Trip."

"Oh, bloody hell!"

"We could say that we have made our contribution to the emergence of a new, particular tradition of _Entreprise_."

"A... tradition!"

"Yes. And traditions must be cherished and preserved. And consolidated."

And so she did. With sweetness and passion, she grabbed his head, drew it to her and consecrated once and for all that wonderful tradition with her kiss of love.

* * *

"Okay. To us two, now." The doctor's alien face was placid, but determined, while speaking, coming near to his bed. "It is time for you to rest a little. The awakening was a bit… tumultuous and this is not good. Adding trauma to trauma is harmful."

The doctor didn't give him even time to fully realize. His waft of words washed over him, without giving him time to think. "I understand that this time it is rather difficult for you to think you can sleep." A captivating smile appeared on the face of the physician. "But of this, the care will be mine." The smile widened. "After all, it's my job."

Finally he was able to utter few words. "Doctor, I do not want to..."

"To sleep?"

"No. I…"

"Oh, I understand. You're fine, aren't you?"

"Well…"

"Your brain goes like a bomb, doesn't it?"

"Actually…"

"Your body is in perfect condition."

"Oh, well…"

"It does not hurt."

"Well..."

"Is not tired."

"Oh... ahem..."

"It has no problem."

"Well, here..."

"And your mind is not flooded at all, nor troubled."

"Doctor!" The sudden exclamation finally stopped the torrent of words of the physician.

This one looked at him, an amiable smile on his broad face. "Yes?"

"Doctor, my mind wants just to..."

"To know. Yes, I know."

"That… that's right, Doctor."

The doctor grinned. "Boy, we, too, and… the Captain as well. All of us want to know. But there is time and place for everything.

"But..."

"You can not push yourself beyond your possibilities."

"But I ..."

"If I tell you that you can not do it, you can not do it."

"But I do not."

Suddenly the doctor burst out laughing. Of heart. "Equal in all respects. Hard-headed the same way."

"Huh?"

A twinkle, ironic but also sympathetic, appeared in those friendly alien eyes. "Never mind. As I said, there will be time and opportunity. Yes, you will have time and opportunity to know and to understand. And so do we."

"But..."

"I said, _n-o-t n-o-w_. I know when it is appropriate not to overload body as well as mind. I have not only a degree in medicine with specialization in exo-medicine of the humanoid species, but I am also graduated in exo-biology with specialization in neuro-physio-psycho-psychiatry."

"Holy cow! I take off the hat that I have not, doctor!"

There has been a hearty open laughter on the part of the doctor. "Yes. Definitely equal." He laughed again, more softly. "Something tells me that I will have my work cut out."

Eh no! Enough, now! Pleasurable, that unlikely doctor from another world, nothing to say. But the bag was about to be broken!

Irritation gained the upper hand. He raised angrily his head and his shoulders from the pillow forcing on the elbow of the arm with the drip and waved against the doctor the other. "Enough with conundrums! I'm fine, at least enough to be able to have some response!"

"Boy…"

"I'm not your boy! And I want to know! How have I done to be here?"

"Boy, listen to me. You…"

"I said I'm not your boy! How…?

"Stop it!"

He stopped suddenly at the unexpected voice burst of the physician. For the first time the doctor's face showed off vexation and also annoyance. He pointed his finger at him. "This response lies in your brain, my dear. Yours and of that other in that other bed."

"In… my brain?"

"Yes."

"Mine and..."

"Yours and of that other. Just so."

"But..."

"But you're unable to give us this response. Is that so?"

"Well ..."

"No, you can't. Or maybe you can, but at the price of an effort that now you can not cope with."

"I..."

The finger of the doctor fidgeted impatiently in the air. "Boy, do you think I have put in his place the Captain, for then letting you make a fool of me?"

He kept silent. He didn't know what he could say.

After a moment, the doctor took a long breath. He pulled himself together. His face softened, but his expression was very serious.

He got closer to the bed with frowning eyes. "Stay down." It was an order. Curt and sharp. It brooked no argument.

And he, uneasily, obeyed.

Without changing expression, the doctor nodded. "Good." Then he sighed. "Listen to me. It is not true that you are well, or rather, is not it true that you're fine as you should be. The traumas to which you have been subjected have not gone in vain. Now, you see, it was only logical for us to confront with you, when you were waking up. A first approach was not only obvious, but necessary. But I could not imagine what we have told each other, what came out from our conversation. At this point, we have to stop. There are limits that can not be overstepped for now." His intelligent eyes narrowed. "And I don't speak just to talk."

The doctor turned to the control panel of his bed. "That speaks very clearly to me." He pointed to the panel, turning his face towards him. "You need a break. You have to pull the plug." He looked at him intently. "You must sleep."

The doctor turned to the other bed, speaking thoughtfully without watching him. "You have to sleep as long as necessary. You need time. And… not only you."

He absorbed those words. They reverberated within him.

"Doctor…"

The doctor didn't give sign to have heard, his look still fixed pensive on the other bed.

"Doctor..." Here. Here, the indistinct thought wriggling at the limit of the unconscious inside him. "Who... who's in the other bed?"

The doctor, Phlox, did not answer. He looked strangely at him, then, with sudden move, walked away. He reached quickly the other bed. He saw him carefully observe its control panel.

"It will not take much." In the physician's voice it sounded a note of… of gaiety, yes. But also of apprehensive concern. It rang low and broody. "She will have absolutely to be here, at the awakening, not only because it is right and because I have promised. Fact is also that only she..."

The doctor stopped abruptly, as if he had said too much.

Then he seemed to think of something. And that something made him smile. "It is better that I arrange for that."

His smile broadened to the limits of excess. "Sure, I've all the time. But what is done is done." He almost seemed to be talking to himself and also to derive great contentment from all that.

"So. Let's see. Where...? Ah, here it is."

He saw the doctor tinker with the console next to the other bed. "Normally, it is not needed, but in this case..."

A dividing curtain descended slowly from the ceiling. It went down up to the ground, completely screening the other bed and the doctor himself from his sight.

From behind the curtain it was heard the voice of the doctor, cheerful and satisfied. "Ah, perfect."

He saw him come out from behind the curtain and then stop to observe critically how things were. "Yes, this way, it should go well. Of course, the voices can not be shielded, but I do not think that this is a problem. A little bit of privacy, after all, is assured."

He turned toward him. Merry and querulous. "Do not you think it's right, boy?"

He replied thoughtfully, almost without realizing what he was saying. "I think so. T'Pol will not want prying eyes when it will be possible for her to..."

He fell silent in his tracks. What a vulcan female does when she can have back her man, who she has risked of loosing? She kisses him? Hugs him? Squeezes him tightly to her? Snuggles up to him?

The doctor grew serious. Walked over to him. "So, you understood who's in the other bed."

His eyes fastened intently on those of the doctor. "I have realized that there is a man and that it comes to the man of the Vulcan, of T'Pol. I understood, I think I understood, that we have been both involved in the same ... I do not know what. I think I understood that this has caused my coming here and that you too are looking for explanations."

His gaze became very, very intense. "What I do not know is who, exactly, lies in that other bed."

The doctor slightly lifted the corners of his mouth in a crafty half smile. "Ah, you do not know, do you?"

"I..."

It came out of the shadows. Took shape. Consolidated itself. That thought. That crazy idea. That had holed up in his mind. That, now, had made itself substance.

It began to spin in a recurring circle in his brain.

_T'Pol. The Vulcan. She knew his nickname._

_There. On that other bed. There was her man._

_She knew he was called Trip._

_The Vulcan female who should not have existed ... knew that he was Trip._

_And on that other bed there was her man._

_And... Captain Jonathan Archer was the exact copy of… Mr. Jonathan Archer._

_The exact copy._

_And the doctor and the others had remained dumbfounded at hearing his voice, in the beginning._

_The… exact copy._

_And T'Pol knew the way in which he was called._

_And she ... __**had sighed**__ ... his nickname._

He abandoned himself on the bed. He shut his eyes for a moment.

"Doctor..." His voice was low. "Doctor..." He opened his eyes and looked wearily at the physician. God, how he felt tired! "Doctor, I think you're right. Maybe... maybe it's better that I make rest a little my body and… and my ideas, before..." It was hard to say. "... before I... before he... before... we..."

The doctor saved him. Also his voice rang low. And soft. "Yes, really equal. As water droplets." He smiled. "Self-willed. And intelligent. And strong. Like a few others. To such an extent to be capable of making fall in love even a Vulcan woman."

The physician turned to the console next to his bed. When he turned back he had a syringe in his hand. He smiled again. "Do not be afraid. I know my job."

It didn't take long. A great desire to sleep seized him. He did not fight. He surrendered immediately.

That world that shouldn't have existed became hazy and muffled. It disappeared, absorbed in the dark.

But before sinking into darkness, something - indistinct at first, and then more and more defined, until to be perfectly clear - took shape behind his closed eyelids, before the eyeless gaze of his mind.

It was a face.

The visage of the vulcan woman.

Of T'Pol.

And it was… gorgeous.

* * *

_**End of Part Four**_

_**TBC in Part Five**_

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooo

_Yes, my friends. There's just enough to think that things will go to get complicated._

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooo

**(o)** **And who are never Talok and V'Las? Well, you should remember the following episodes, my friends.**

**"The Forge"**

**"Awakening"**

**"Kir'Shara"**


	5. Chapter 5

**Ineluctable**

**By Asso**

**Part Five**

* * *

_This is the chapter of the reflections, my friends._

_In this spirit, please, you have to read it._

_But I ask you also to do something else._

_Sure, you can read this chapter without knowing my other stories, but perhaps it would be better that you were so kind to know at least some of them, in particular, "Shore Leave" and "Similitudes" (although this is still in progress)._

_There are some important hints to these stories, in this chapter, although I don't stress exactly the points where reference is made to them._

_I really think that you would be able to better understand this chapter if you would read those stories._

_But, in any case, whatever your choice, thank you for being here with me._

_And with Trip and T'Pol._

* * *

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Valdore turned his shoulders to the porthole. He leaned against it with his back.

His eyes wandered around the room without actually seeing anything precise. They followed his thoughts.

The inspiration. He did not have to lose it, and had to give substance to it.

There was one thing that he had not seen in the right light. He had not posed to himself a question that instead he should have done.

Why hadn't the energy discharge unleashed by him from his ship destroyed _Enterprise_? Or, rather, how was it possible that it had done to the Human ship seemingly so little damage?

Undoubtedly the destruction in one fell swoop of a space vessel of that size was very difficult to obtain. However, the information of which he was in possession had said bluntly that at that precise moment, with a temporal negligible variability, and in that point, with a negligible spatial variability, _Enterprise _would have been in conditions of clear-cut vulnerability, because, virtually, all of the available energy would have been used by the Human ship for the teleportation experiment that Tucker had planned together with the Vulcan, with T'Pol. Therefore, even assuming that the energy discharge, whilst powerful, higher than any other previously obtainable thanks to the remarkable improvements made to the armament of his vessel, nonetheless had not been sufficient to achieve the _Enterprise_'s total destruction, though such a thing, however, had been put into the account... ultimately, whilst admitting all this, it remained a fact, which, come to think in hindsight and sufficiently at a distance in time from the disappointment and chagrin for the attack's failure and also from the annoyance of having learned of the measures taken by Humans and Vulcans together, deserved a very careful consideration.

That is, the scarcity of the damage caused to _Enterprise_.

The time to realize what was going on had been really little, insufficient. _Enterprise_ had reacted quickly, this was undeniable and, on the other hand, the alertness of Humans was well known.

There had not been enough time to restore energy to a new low; there had been no time to do anything, not even to dash in pursuit of the human ship at warp speed.

But the fact was right there. It was perfectly admissible that the Humans had been able to react promptly and effectively, allowing them to escape; what was not admissible, or, better, understandable, was how it had been possible that the Human ship had been able to do it.

Where had the energy that had struck _Enterprise _ended up? The strength of that discharge was such that, if properly centered, might have been actually able to destroy it. Instead, not only this had not happened, but the damage to the Terran ship had been mild. Just like that. Mild.

So what? How could it be explained, such a fact?

And how could it be explained that the conversations between Archer and Soval, that it had been possible to catch before the silence of communications, spoke of huge damage to the transporter room of _Enterprise_, damage liable to give rise serious bodily injury to Tucker, who was there?

Archer had also spoken of an inexplicable fact that had happened in that room, but had not said anything to Soval of what this were. Whatever it was, it seemed that the area of the human ship that had really suffered because of the attack had been the transporter room.

_Against which their fire - the discharge of energy - had not been directed._

So? So, could it have been, by chance, that the discharge of energy had been ducted to the transporter room? That it had gone to end up there, for the most part? As a result of the conveyance of all or almost all energy of _Enterprise_ into that room? Each type of energy. Even that not directly produced by _Enterprise_. Like the energy of the discharge which he had launched against the human ship.

But even in this case the figures didn't add up, because, even if conveyed to the transporter room, the energy discharge would have had to be destructive. Unless...

Yes...

Unless it had not been dispersed... elsewhere... conveyed elsewhere by the transporter itself. To an extent sufficient to prevent the destruction of the human ship, although not the damage - the serious damage, apparently - to the transporter room.

Valdore nodded to himself.

Yes, it was so. It was a plausible explanation.

In reality the supposed vulnerability of _Enterprise_ had been de facto what had saved the ship, because the cause of this vulnerability had also caused the absorption and dispersion of the energy discharge, making sure that the damages had been limited.

Valdore dropped his head on his chest. He had miscalculated. He should have hit the human ship simply by trusting of the surprise and the power of his weapons. Paradoxically, the hypothesis, more than grounded, that hitting it at a time when it had been supposedly defenceless would have multiplied the already very high chance of success... had turned against him.

And okay, alright. Thus it had gone, things were so. However...

However at this time _Enterprise_ was lesioned. Not much seriously, this was true. But it was. And, fact extremely important, it was deprived of its Chief Engineer.

So, in a sense, it was now really vulnerable, albeit in a manner different from what he had thought that it could have been, when he had unleashed hell against it. _Enterprise_ was vulnerable because damaged and therefore not able to act at peak efficiency and because it lacked one of its _thinking heads_, indeed, probably, as all the information seemed to confirm, its _most_ thinking head; turbulent and unpredictable, it seemed, but - and perhaps just because of that - _dangerously_ thinking. Redoubtable. Turbulently and unpredictably redoubtable.

The possibility, therefore, to effectively complete the started work, there was; though, and with even greater reason than he could have considered before, it was necessary to act quickly, because the damage would have been repaired and because, again from the information collected from the conversations between Archer and Soval, the Chief Engineer, the true connoisseur and the most skilful exploiter of the potentialities of _Enterprise_, would have recovered.

But there were some problems.

It was undoubtedly true that the power of the burst of energy that was possible to hurl against an enemy ship, was such that this could hardly have resisted. Perhaps it wouldn't have been possible to destroy it completely, but the damage would have been such as to reduce the enemy ship to a pile of useless metal and, at that point, if one really had wanted to get the maximum effect also from the point of view demonstrative - promotional - it would have sufficed even a simple, small, photo-torpedo well centered on what was left of the engine room to result in the complete - and spectacular - disintegration of the opposing vessel.

However, the very power of the discharge was such that his ship was completely helpless in the minutes after the fire, because virtually all of the available energy was concentrated in the discharge and it was needed a few minutes to restore the levels, a time interval quite sufficient to be mortally affected in turn. So, it was necessary to act by surprise and under such conditions that only his ship and the other, the enemy, were present. There hadn't to be a third wheel, to put it in human words, capable of hitting his ship after the energy discharge.

Valdore mentally cursed at himself. Really true, Humans were indeed right. The best is the enemy of the good. He had had all the opportunities to get rid of _Enterprise_ and he had wasted them in the idea that it would have been more profitable hitting it at the right time, which had instead turned out to be the wrong time.

All right. Things had gone that way. But that _Enterprise_ had been damaged and that Tucker were out of the game, this was true, as it was equally true that if he had succeeded in catching the human ship, once again, by surprise, the end result would presumably have been its destruction, just in the light of the endured damage and of the impossibility to avail of Tucker.

But how could he do to catch by surprise _Enterprise_ one more time? And alone? He was ... he was deaf and blind at the time. None of the Earth ships was detectable and Vulcans would have immediately revealed the appearance of his ship in a suspected area. A surprise attack was therefore impossible.

Unless...

Yeah. Unless he had tried to reverse the parties. To transform himself from predator into prey.

A prey ... in trouble. The only reason why a prey could disclose itself to a predator.

Ah yes. Because if it was true that he was deaf and blind, it was also true, in a sense, that equally deaf and blind were the Earth vessels. All they could do was to wait; to wait for him to make a move, for him to show himself; to wait for someone to catch sight of him. Then, the human ships would have come rushing. Not all, of course; they could not risk not being able to cope with any other threats, of whose existence they could not be sure, but that couldn't even be ruled out. One, in any case, the closest, would have rushed at the cry of alarm raised by the vulcan Allies who had spotted his ship, or, of course, at the cry of alarm of any Earth's ship that could have done this, because, equally of course, in this case the silence of the communications would have been interrupted. And it would have been just that ship to launch itself into the attack, or at least to try to take advantage of his supposed condition of difficulty. Certainly, the risk that the Earthlings could have decided to engage in the action more than one ship there was, but it was in all probability a very low risk, because, due to the fact that they could not know how many there were the potential enemies, Humans would have tried to use the minimum of the forces at their disposal, which meant that they would have probably resorted to only a single ship even in the case that more than one were been able to intervene.

A plausible forecast. Or, maybe, merely plausibly to be hoped.

And the Vulcans? Well, it was most likely to be excluded that the Vulcans could enter openly into battle. The alliance was not operational for the time being until that point. Indeed, his mission was to avoid that it could reach right up to such a point.

This too was a plausible prediction, and, perhaps, trivially more plausibly to be hoped than the first.

Of course, it was not sure that the ship with which he would have come face to face were to be just _Enterprise_. The chances were one in four. However, it was not to be excluded, and certainly, if the data available to him about the character traits of Captain Archer corresponded to the truth - a fact, this, indisputable - this one would not have thought twice about rushing to his ... nice this human way of saying ... mirror for larks, if he were been in a position to do so.

One chance in four.

Rather little.

But enough.

And then, even if the Earth's ship with which, and, of course, with increased risk on his part, he would have found himself to engage in battle, were not _Enterprise_, there would have still been the possibility, more than real, to destroy one of the human vessels. Not the best result, or, rather, not the exact result that he had set, but still a result, enough not to make be considered his mission a total failure. Hopefully.

Provided that, of course, he had managed to achieve his goal. And provided that he had managed to create the right conditions, and that he had managed to mislead Humans and Vulcans, and that...

The shadow of a dour smile appeared on the face of Valdore.

How many unknowns! How many _but_ and how many _if_ in his ... but yes ... in his plan, if such it could be called. It was something very far from the plans well programmed, designed, studied, dissected, in all the details, that he was capable of doing.

But it was still a plan. Risky. More than risky. It was ... illogical. Worthy ... Valdore almost grinned ... worthy of the Humans. Bold, they would have defined it. But as they themselves were saying, _fortune favours the bold._

And, after all, he hadn't to lose anything more than what he had already lost.

Valdore straightened up in all his stature.

He walked over the intercom.

"All the senior officers on the bridge."

* * *

Sleeping.

A word. But between saying and doing there was half the sea.

T'Pol could not help but smile, which, in fact, had started to happen more and more often to her, at least when she was alone and no one could see.

The influence exerted on her by Trip now was huge and it was increasingly difficult to escape his way of being, like the smile, exactly, and like – T'Pol's smile became a gentle chuckle - his ways of speaking.

_Between saying and doing there was half the sea._

Funny, thinking about it. Now she could understand what it meant funny. But also very, very true. A Vulcan would have said _wise_.

And the Vulcan T'Pol thought so, in fact. It was a way of saying _wise_.

She sat cross-legged on the floor and lit the meditation candle.

The doctor was right, she had to rest. The doctor was right about everything. The smile reappeared on her lips. She had to be rested and fresh for the awakening of her T'hai'la.

But sleeping was not easy. First, she had to meditate a bit. It was necessary, she needed it.

She had to put some order in the whirlwind of thoughts twirling in her mind, in the whirlwind of emotions that crowded into her heart.

And, without the help of Trip, this was... was difficult. Everything now was difficult without him. Maybe it was better to say that it was impossible.

She, now, depended on him. Without him she was lost.

T'Pol became thoughtful. Very, very pensive.

Was it fair, that? Was logical? What was the answer? What had remained, in her, of the woman of a time?

T'Pol focused on the flickering flame of the candle, and, impudent, immediately it occurred to her mind the thought that that candle...

It had been donated to her by him.

By her Trip.

One of the many small and big kind thoughts that he had constantly for her.

T'Pol closed her eyes. The tremulous reflection of the flame for a few moments remained imprinted in her retinas. Gradually it faded.

Around her, it took shape the white and empty space of her meditation.

She felt it immediately.

Her heart leapt with joy.

He was there.

He was sleeping, there, in the infirmary, but his sleeping being was there with her.

Nothing could separate him from her, not even the unconsciousness of sleep.

He did not know it, could not know. But his soul, commingled with hers, yes. It knew it, and at the very moment in which she had freed her mind in her white space, his mind, though asleep and unaware, had joined to hers.

In reality he was always into her brain, in her Katra. There was always, in her mind, that rustling and sweet murmur that told her that he was with her, that they two were one, united in their Bond.

But now there was something more. Now he was really right there with her.

She perceived his physical presence.

He was asleep. He could not consciously make himself bodily. Visible and tangible.

Yet he was there. Terribly alive and vivid and real.

T'Pol opened the eyes of her spirit. Her gaze fathomed the white void of her meditation place.

There he was. Lying on the anything. Asleep. Tranquil.

Terribly handsome.

Terribly... marvelously... hers.

Hers to the point of making it known to her even unknowingly, because he was hers to such an extent, that at the very moment in which she had come there, in her meditative dimension, he had come to her.

He had immediately responded to her call, to her need for him.

He was...

HERS!

T'Pol got up, walked over to him and stood beside him.

She looked at him while he slept.

She looked at that face, manly and yet sweet. And brazen. At that blond hair, at that mouth. At those lips.

Her hand went unconsciously to stroke that face, that hair.

T'Pol could not help it. She bent. Her lips came to rest upon those lips.

With closed eyes T'Pol kissed him. A long time. With softness and love.

He did not move. Did not respond to her kiss. He could not, he was unconscious.

But T'Pol felt, strong and mighty, a flutter of happiness that was not hers alone, was also his.

T'Pol straightened up.

Her eyes caressed his face, while her hand continued to stroke his hair.

Yes. She was lost without him, she was completely dependent on him.

And this...

She rearranged, without thinking, a rebellious curl that didn't want to stand in its place.

_... and this was fair._

Because she loved him.

Here it was, the answer she was looking for.

Once again, as always, he had helped her. Had rushed to her want and had given her the answer of which she was in need.

She loved him and this made all logical.

She didn't have to forget, ever, the simple, irrefutable logic of their love.

But she would never have forgotten, even when it could have seemed.

Because, next to her, there would always have been him to remind her.

Where had she ended up, the vulcan woman of the past? What had remained of her? But everything! Everything. And, along with that everything, had arrived much more.

Where was her logic? There, in him.

Where was her untroubledness? There, in him.

Where was her calm? There, in him.

Where was her strength? There, in him.

There was only to want to understand it. There was only to want to accept it.

And she had done this.

And she had been successful in doing it thanks to him. She had sunk down into hell and had come back, thanks to him; had died and risen, thanks to him; had defeated herself, her own blind stubbornness, her own inane stupidity, thanks to him.

And had become even more logical, more unflappable, even calmer. More in control of herself.

More _mistress_ of herself.

More aware.

And even stronger.

She had learned to be so strong as to accept the impossibility of being always master of own being, the futility of pursuing the vulcan dream - unattainable, _illogical_; bearer of dreariness and dullness and sadness and boredom; and of unhappiness; distorted interpretation of the wisdom of Surak - of being above everything, of being able to dominate things, events. Emotions.

She had learned to be so strong as to accept also to suffer, if necessary; to be weak, if necessary.

But also to rejoice. Unafraid to do so.

What other vulcan woman could even just think to be as strong as her?

No other.

Because no other vulcan woman ... no other woman…

T'Pol squatted on the non-existent floor and leaned her head on Trip's chest.

Because no other woman had her Trip.

No other woman could enjoy his embrace and the immense strength that his embrace gave her.

No other woman could draw on the strength of his love as _she_ could do.

Calmness descended in T'Pol. Deep.

Her mind cheered up. Her heart quietened.

Her Trip would be healed, was already on the mend, and, then, everything - EVERYTHING! - would have been solved.

The enemy attack? The two of them would have worked together and would have discovered everything and thwarted any threat.

The Romulans? The supposed enemies? The two of them would have worked together and would have known how to prevent the Romulans, if indeed it came to them, from implementing their plans, their dark plots.

The alliance? The new, unprecedented alliance between races, even enemy so far, that it was trying to build? The two of them would have worked together and would have been able to promote it, to help it to grow, to entrench, to acquire substance, to become fully realized. They could do it more than anyone else, because they themselves, the two of them together, were the symbol, the emblem, the living proof of how this was possible.

And ... and the new Trip?

A shadow of uneasiness stirred inside T'Pol.

Other times it had happened that she had had to deal with other Trips, directly or indirectly.

There was a Trip that she had never known, although in fact she couldn't not have known him, and also very ... intimately. It was the Trip who had married that other T'Pol, that other self of her, who had been much wiser than her and who had understood the unstoppability of the love that she felt for Trip, long before she had stopped fighting stubbornly against her own feeling for him, that feeling which had born so long ago, which perhaps, in her, had always existed, even before she had seen the light, because it was her destiny. So, he, her trip, would have said. Her _ineluctable_ destiny.

And there had been Sim. He had not been Trip, but a little, he had been him. And he had been... had been the first man she'd kissed. And she was ashamed of that. It was Trip the one she loved, not Sim. But Trip, her T'hai'la, just he, had told her that, in reality, she had kissed him, Trip, not Sim; had kissed the Trip who was in Sim.

Because she loved him, Trip.

Why, he had told her, being ashamed of having kissed the man you love?

T'Pol smiled imperceptibly, rocking herself on Trip's chest.

But the discomfort grabbed her again.

This ... this new Trip, however, troubled her. He made her feel ill at ease.

Where had he come from? How had he done to get here? How was it possible that _Enterprise_ did not exist in his world? That, indeed, in his world there were fantasy stories that told of other ships named _Enterprise_?

And ... and there was not a T'Pol, in his world, because he did not know her.

A Trip without a T'Pol. Horrifying!

How ... how would she have had to behave, in front of a Trip who was Trip, but who was not her Trip? And how would he have reacted, this new Trip, in realizing, and in seeing, that, here, there was a Trip who loved and was loved by a Vulcan female who in his world couldn't have existed except in the imagination? Who, indeed, was even the husband of this Vulcan female?

T'Pol pressed herself on her asleep Trip.

It was enough. Once again it worked.

T'Pol sighed.

Oh yes. She was lost without her Trip, she was totally dependent on him.

She, just she, had chosen thus in the end, and didn't regret her choice, because he would always have been there to give her everything of which she was in need, even when he weren't have been able to realize it.

Like right now.

Again a slight, quiet smile on the lips of T'Pol.

Everything would have gone the right way. When her T'hai'la would have woken up, the two of them together would have found all the answers and together they would have been able to face any situation.

And ... maybe ... yes, maybe they would have also managed to aid the other Trip in going back to his world. As it was just that it was.

T'Pol deposited a small, soft kiss on the chest of Trip.

She stood up.

She looked with full eyes at her Ashayam, who was sleeping, peaceful and serene, in the white nothing of their space.

*_See you later, my love. See you later. In the real world._*

Quickly but softly, everything faded away around her. Even her Trip.

Here she was, again in her dim room.

The candle in front of her was almost completely consumed.

T'Pol turned it off quietly with a soft breath.

A tenuous thread of scented smoke rose up from the extinguished candle.

T'Pol watched it dissolving into the shadows.

It had not exactly been the meditation she was expecting, but had been the best meditation that she had ever done. And, definitely, it was right so. Now there was Trip, in her life. Nothing could be done by her that didn't include also him.

Now she was quiet and at peace. Perfectly calm.

She could sleep and rest.

T'Pol stood up from the floor.

She took off her pyjamas. She remained naked.

She smiled. Wittingly. Deliberately.

She would have slept thus.

Nude.

And would have dreamed ... just like that ... she would have dreamed of sleeping thus, naked, in the arms of her Trip.

And she would have been awakened by the voice of Phlox, who would have called her to tell her that her love was about to wake up.

And then, she would have rushed to him.

She would have sat next to him.

And when he would have opened his eyes, he could have seen her.

She wouldn't have given him even the time to realize. She would have hugged him.

Would have held him tightly to her.

And would have welcomed him back into the world with her passionate kiss of love.

* * *

_**End of Part Five**_

_**TBC in Part Six**_

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

_And after the reflections ... what will arrive?_


	6. Chapter 6

**Ineluctable**

**By Asso**

_**Part six**_

* * *

_Where it comes to spells._

_Just like that._

_And certainly not haphazardly._

* * *

**oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

"Come in."

The door opened.

Archer raised his head from the desk. He looked at the person who had entered.

_Anna Hess?_

Mh… well, what meant that? In Trip's forced… absence, she had jurisdiction over the Department of Engineering and, nothing to say, she was brilliant, but the Captain never would have expected to see her there, in his quarters, in person. It wasn't good sign, also considering how she looked uncomfortable.

In spite of everything, Archer couldn't help but smile to himself.

As a rule, only the senior officers and really a few other people were in the habit of conferring directly with him, and, even though at that time Anna Hess was holding the stead of her Chief, the behavioural attitude hers as well as of all those not part of the components of the Command Bridge couldn't but make her feel uneasy. She was decidedly ill at ease to be there, and this, thing which made fade away the mental smile of Archer, meant that there was a problem, and not insignificant, because, otherwise, Hess would never have dreamed of repulsing back in her throat her reluctance and her embarrassment, to the point to come there to him. And it had to be something she evidently felt it was better that it were communicated to him in person.

Archer stood up and took a few steps toward her, who was standing stiff and firm, just inside the room, her heels practically yet on the threshold.

Well, it was just not the case to point out the lack of respect that she showed in remaining there on her feet, without saying anything and without even greeting him, her Captain.

Despite everything, despite the instinctual drive of his character, - and it still rankled him that he had had to surrender to the doctor's pretensions and, even more, that he had to acknowledge that he was in the wrong and the doctor on the mark – Archer had learned something during the time spent on _Enterprise_. At least, he had learned that he had to earn to be the Captain, that it wasn't enough he were the Captain for being the Captain for real. Anna Hess had something serious and important to tell him, otherwise she would not have been there; indeed, it was very easy that her discomfort could have been magnified by the gravity of what she had to say to him. Reproaching her wouldn't certainly have made things easier.

Archer smiled. Just like that. "Are you going to stand there for a long time, Anna? Unlikely that the door closes, if you do not move from there."

Hess sprang forward as stung by a bee. The door closed with a soft thud behind her. "Captain ... I apologize ... I ..."

Archer waved blandly his hand in the air. "Quiet, Anna. It's all right."

Then he stopped smiling. "What's it, Anna?"

Anna Hess regained her composure. "Captain, the engines ..."

"What have the engines, Anna?"

"They do not work as they should, Captain."

"Explain."

"We can proceed only at impulse speed."

"What happened, Anna? They worked when we got into warp speed, after the attack, and at full power."

"Sir, if we had not come out soon from the warp speed as we did, the engines would have stopped operating."

The Captain frowned visibly. He walked over to Anna Hess. "Anna, are you sure of what you say?"

"Captain, I realized that something was wrong when I wanted to perform a general check up. I wanted everything to be in order for when the Chief..."

"Okay, Anna, okay. I understand what you want to say."

"The engines are not able to hold out more than a certain limit. I think this has something to do with the overload to which they have been subjected of reverb, as a result of the energy discharge by which we have been hit."

Archer nodded gravely. He pointed to a chair. "Sit down, Anna."

"But Captain..."

"Best that we talk while sitting, do not you think?"

"I ... yes, Captain."

Anna sat down and Archer sat in turn in front of her. "So, let's see. You're telling me we can not afford, at this time, to use the warp engines."

"It's so, Captain."

"They work, but only for short periods."

"That's right, Captain."

"So, we can only count on impulse engines."

"Yes, Captain. It is so."

"This is very serious, Anna. Our ability to manoeuvre in the face of any attack or unforeseen event turns out greatly limited because of that. A close encounter with an enemy would be extremely dangerous."

"I am aware, Captain. For this I wanted to..."

"Tell me about it in person."

"Yes, Captain."

Archer drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. "However, if this would become necessary, we would still be able to escape the enemy. If even for short periods, the warp engines are capable of operating."

"The real problem lies here, Captain."

"That is?"

"Their functioning is unpredictable, Captain."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Captain..." - Anna leaned forward in her chair – "I am not able to say whether the warp engines can run for a second or an hour or a day or even..."

"Or even?"

"Not at all."

The Captain leaned in turn. "So, we were lucky that the warp engines have worked, when we escaped from the enemy ship."

"Just so, Captain."

"And it is not said that, in case, we may be lucky a second time."

"It is ... it is so, Captain."

"I see."

Archer stood up. He turned. He took a few nervous steps along the room. He stopped. He turned to Anna Hess, who had risen in turn and was looking at him with apprehension, openly antsy. How she would have liked to be somewhere else! And how she would have liked not to have the responsibility which had swooped on her shoulders out of the blue!

"Anna, is there anything that can be done?"

Anna shifted uncomfortably. "Captain, it would be necessary to stop the motors and reprogram them completely. I mean ... we should stop the reactor."

Archer raised his eyebrow. "A shut-down?"

"E… exactly, Sir."

"Like the one done by Tri... by Commander Tucker at that time?" **(1)**

Anna took a deep breath, more and more on pins and needles. "Yes, Captain."

"But, Anna, this would mean…"

"Yes, captain, I know. This would mean being deprived of motive power and being able to make use only of the auxiliary energy just for life support. For… for a certain amount of time."

"And during this time we would be totally helpless."

Oh damn! But why the heck had all this had to swoop just on her? "You are right, Captain."

Archer's face hardened. "How much time, Anna?"

"It is ... it is hard to say, Captain."

"How much, Anna?"

"I believe ... I believe several days."

"Several days ..."

"Yes, Captain."

"How many _several days_?"

"Oh… behold…"

"_How many_, Anna?"

"At… at least a week. And working at full capacity and hoping not to find a hitch.

"A week."

"Captain…"

"A week!"

"Captain… Sir... I fear so. And even more."

"Even more!"

"Captain… yes. Unless ..."

"Unless?"

"Captain ..."

"Unless, Anna?"

Anna Hess looked at the Captain with poignancy. "Sir… how long yet, before Commander Tucker may be able to make again one..."

She stopped speaking. How could she tell it?

Archer gazed sombrely at her. "One… of his spells, Anna?"

Anna nodded. "Yes, Captain."

* * *

"T'Pol! What are you doing here, for the Great Healer's sake?"

"Doctor..."

Phlox looked at the Vulcan, a little hard. "I had told you to rest."

"I did it, Doctor. And I slept soundly, but ..."

The doctor frowned a little more. "I had also said that I would have called you when I would have noticed clear signs of awakening."

"My husband is waking up, Doctor."

The doctor remained bewildered, he was taken aback. He was irritated, no point in denying, but it would also have been totally useless - and stupid - to deny the words of T'Pol. _Never_, she was mistaken - could not - about Commander Tucker, about her bond mate.

Her husband.

T'Pol stretched out her bare arm.

Bare. Exactly so. Because the only things she wore were a white short-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of calf-length trousers, white they too, everything she, with all appearances, had hastily put on, to get there in a hurry, and, surely, without even bothering to think of what they were and that, on the T-shirt, it made a fine view of itself, embroidered in bright colours, a word.

_Wifey_.

Just like that.

In another moment, Phlox would inevitably have smiled with the broadest of his grins.

T'Pol, the unimpeachable, faultless T'Pol, had not even taken the trouble to dress by ordinance, _appropriately_, just to get there very hurriedly, in the greatest rush. She had not even thought about what was written on that shirt, something the doctor thought, without fear to be wrong, that had been given her by her husband. Effectively, that inscription, that name, stood very well with the mischievous sense of humour of Commander Tucker and also with his undeniable romanticism.

A gift from him to her; a gift decidedly… _significant_; and a gift that she, in all likelihood, indeed for sure, wore in their intimacy.

That she _liked_ to wear.

By now Phlox had become aware of the existence deep down in T'Pol of certain hidden and unsuspected folds and he had learned that there were a not few things that T'Pol did and that one would never have expected she would.

Like wearing that t-shirt.

But it was perfectly… _logical_, thinking about it.

Nothing to do. When a Vulcan decides, perceives, that something must be done, that it is fair and _logical_ that it is done ... well, he - or _she_ - does it whole hog. And about the fact that T'Pol by now had decided that she had to live to the full her romantic relationship with Commander Tucker... damnit! There no longer could be any doubt! Otherwise... Like hell she would have married him!

And that inscription told her what she was for her husband and, of course, what she wanted to be and felt she should have been for him.

_His wifey._

_The vulcan wifey of that very sentimentalist of Commander Tucker. Hard shell, curt manners and a big heart. And tender._

Why? Simple. Because she loved him.

And loving means adapting, being willing to be what the one you love would like you to be. This had been done by Commander Tucker in respect of T'Pol. This was being done, inevitably, by her in respect of him.

So, in the end, there was nothing to be surprised that she wore that t-shirt. Indeed that, with all certainty, she _loved _to wear it.

That she was proud to wear it.

Obviously not in front the entire world, though!

And yet she had run that way to the infirmary. And in broad daylight! Not caring if anyone could see her! And all this spoke volumes about her feelings for her husband, about how much she loved him; to the point to lose her head just to run to him at the very moment she had perceived he was waking up; at his recall, one could say, whether conscious or not it were; at his need for her, perhaps it would have been better to say. She had hurtled over there with the utmost speed and even more, forgetful of anything else.

Damn, how much water had passed under the bridge since to his mind of meddler it had come the idea to act as the catalyst for the chemical reaction, for the_ chemistry_, clearly existing between the two, that smouldered beneath the ashes and that they both stubbornly insisted not to let burgeon!

For their sake, by golly! For their own good! For that he had done it! He was the ship's doctor, after all. The health of the crew was utmost care for him, and if, then, it came to two crew members so important for the smooth operation of the ship, of the whole crew itself... well, it was his duty to interfere!

But since that moment... oh boys! This way he would have expressed himself, that disrespectful daredevil of Trip Tucker the Third… how much it had developed, that alchemy! How much it had evolved since he had convinced T'Pol to assist Commander Tucker with some… _innocent_ neuropressure session! Well, without having to insist a lot, in sooth.

To tell the truth, Phlox's playful sprite, strengthened, additionally, at the school of the Chief Engineer, peeped out in his mind. It tempted him in saying something, a jocular raillery, a friendly quip, like '_pretty t-shirt, Commander_'; but the expression of T'Pol, _her eyes,_ even leaving aside the situation on the whole, made die in the throat to him the joke.

The bright and deep gray-green of T'Pol's eyes seemed to be a bottomless well filled with heaven. So would have said her husband, and he wouldn't have been wrong.

Commander Tucker was a person, incredible to say, very private and he concealed inside a lot more than what he showed outside. But if he decided to open up to someone, he did this without half measures. Everything in him was without half measures, for better or for worse, but honestly, a lot more in good than in bad, and perhaps this was one of the reasons why T'Pol had fallen in love with him. Even his love for T'Pol was without half measures, and she, although with difficulty, had understood it, and had realized that this was a treasure that she could not make her own. Even the pragmatic and unsentimental denobulan doctor that he, Phlox, was, had understood it.

And it had happened that Commander Tucker had opened up, sometimes, even with him, the doctor, which meant a lot, meant that he had become something more than _the doctor_, meant that he had become a friend and, it was to be acknowledged, just thanks to what the Commander, his way to be and to think and to act, had taught him.

And, once, with dreamy look, _his friend_ Commander Tucker had told him that the eyes of T'Pol were an indescribable bright heaven full of wonder.

Words of a man in love? Maybe. But now, at that precise moment, Phlox could see in those eyes, in the eyes of T'Pol, the wonder of which the Commander had spoken to him.

In those eyes there was the wonder of love.

Of all the love she felt for her husband.

Because also T'Pol was without half measures. Oh sure, she knew how to be logical and cold, if necessary. A real Vulcan. But if it was not necessary, if it was possible not to be it... she was, so had said, in confidence, the Commander... a volcano! Just like that. _A vulcan volcano_. Basically, she was just like her husband. Without measures, like him. Those two were diametrically opposite and completely similar. She had fallen in love with Commander Tucker, with her husband, and she had done it without half measures.

She had stubbornly opposed resistance to her feelings for him without half measures and when she had caved in, when she had realized that it made no sense resisting, that it was crazy, insane; when she had finally comprehended that she had to follow her heart, as she herself had said, she had given herself to him without half measures.

She had given him her vulcan heart without half measures.

No one could get deceived about this, it was a matter of fact.

It was enough to look at those eyes, that look.

And with those eyes… with those eyes in which, in the heaven that opened in them, it was perceived, could be seen, with adamantine clarity, _without half measures_, the love she felt for the companion of her life in all its depth… with those eyes fixed in his, T'Pol took the doctor's hand. "He is waking up. I know it."

The physician felt himself drawn into that heaven, in the heaven of wonder broadening out in T'Pol's eyes. He hasn't been capable even of uttering a single word. As much as romanticism certainly weren't the forte his as well as of his species in general, it was not possible to escape the spell of those eyes, of that gaze.

*_Vulcans have no feelings? Of course! Sure! Go to hell, you who think so! You, to whom it's denied the privilege to see such a look!_*

With that gaze sparkling in her eyes, the Vulcan shook the physician's hand. "He's calling me, Phlox. He has called me in his sleep. He's waking up, even though he does not know. And he wants me next to him."

Phlox could only continue to remain silent. He was lost in T'Pol's eyes, in the deep and endless heaven that filled them; that overflowed with her love for her bond mate.

"And I want and I have to be next to him, Phlox."

The doctor nodded. With awareness and conviction, in the end. He knew that T'Pol was right and that… _she was in her right._

Gently he freed his hand and pointed with it at the curtain that hid the bed where Commander Tucker lay. Where he - there was no need to verify - was about to wake up.

The Vulcan snapped forward. Running fast on her bare feet, she passed in a rush in front of the bed where the second Trip Tucker lay asleep in his induced sleep, without even throwing a glance at him.

Phlox saw her disappear behind the curtain, the spell of her eyes still bewitching in front of his.

The spell. Just like that. The magic glistening in them.

Magic was another thing that those two had in common.

Commander Charles Antony Tucker the Third. _The magician of the engines. Of the Engineering. Of the ship. More. The __**lord**__ of magic. The magician who had known how to bewitch a vulcan female._

T'Pol… – Phlox found himself to chuckle, softly amused - …**T'pol Tucker** of Vulcan. _The sorceress who had bewitched the magician._

He went to sit on the sidelines, convenient in order to be able to keep an eye on the whole situation. The bed where the Trip Tucker number two, so to speak, slept his sleep and, while far enough away so as not to feel intrusive, even the curtain behind which T'Pol was gone, behind which another spell was about to take place; something that he, Phlox, a time could not fully understand and that instead, now, he could really grasp, that had been taught to him by Commander Tucker and by T'Pol, by them together.

The spell of love.

The curtain was absolutely firm and its stillness conveyed a sense of anticipation for what was to come, before long, there behind; but, and this increased the feel of waiting, it was also fully nontransparent, completely opaque; nothing could have been glimpsed of what would or could have happened beyond it, exactly like of what was behind it.

_Nothing _of what was concealed by the curtain could be seen. Neither T'Pol nor the other bed, the one on which, shortly, the other Trip Tucker, the number one, would have waken up and could have seen, could have getting lost in the spell whose blinding glare was bursting in the eyes of her wife.

Phlox smiled, quiet and glad. And, admittedly, even a little stunned.

Yes, the Captain was damn right. Commander Tucker was really a magician.

The enchantment that danced its uncanny and faery dance in the eyes of T'Pol, reverberation of the enchanted dance of her heart, couldn't be than one of his spells.

And, undoubtedly, the most powerful.

The most magical of them.

* * *

"With all due respect, Captain. I do not believe that, at present, we can afford the luxury of being deprived of any form of engine energy, indeed, of any form of energy not deriving from the auxiliary generators for the life support. Okay, we can not trust to use the warp drive, but if we were to put ourselves to work to try to put them back in operation, we would find ourselves completely helpless for an indefinite period of time, without even the possibility of using any of the weapons at our disposal. We would be lambs ready for the clutches of the wolf, Captain."

Archer looked seriously at Reed. The Lieutenant was not wrong. Not at all. But... "And if we find ourselves in the condition to be able or to have to face our enemy? Could we trust to attack knowing that our warp engines are unreliable? And the same would apply even if we wanted merely to defend ourselves or if we were to do so."

"And what, if the enemy plucks us by surprise just while we are fully defenceless? At least, with the impulse engines running and with the weapons able to be used, we could defend ourselves or even attack, if we were so temerarious to do it. Or, if the enemy had not noticed us, we may also decide to let it go, for the moment, to wait for better times."

In spite of all their troubles, Archer found himself slyly smiling. "I hardly recognize you, Lieutenant. You, just you, who come to envision the opportunity not to engage in battle. Where has your hard-fighting spirit ended up?"

"It ended up together with a good companion, Captain. The prudence. These years on _Enterprise_ taught me a lot, Sir."

It was a phrase, a statement, powerful.

Archer was impressed with vehemence. He looked at the Lieutenant with pensive eyes and restless, at the same time.

It was just so. The years passed on _Enterprise_ had been years... masters of life. For everyone.

Malcolm had learned to temper his nature of hard-headed fighter, to think that he had to protect or, rather, to safeguard not only himself, or, better said, his role of tactical officer, even his image, in a sense, and his honour, together, obviously, with _Enterprise_, but also, and especially, those – the lives, the safety of those - who entrusted themselves on him. His colleagues, his friends. And - on top of everything - Hoshi. Hoshi, of course. And just Hoshi had taught him this. The love for him which slowly had arisen in her.

And Hoshi? Oh, Hoshi had learned a lot. She had learned not to be afraid of the appearances, to go beyond these, to see what there's deep down in the heart of a man, to gain safety in the safety of the heart of a man, that of Malcolm, strong yet fragile, in the need of a safety that, in his life, no one had ever given him. And who had taught her this had been Malcolm, his love for her, which was just waiting to be brought into the open by the woman able to understand and willing to take care of the quiet force that that heart harboured. By her. By Hoshi.

But all this… how was it possible that all this had come true? Its realization? But because the road had been opened, that's why. And who had opened it? But Trip and T'Pol, of course.

Certainly. Obvious. Evident. Loud and clear. Because if there were two people who, more than anyone else, had learned, _but especially had taught_, these ones were precisely they two, Trip and T'Pol.

_T'Pol. _She had learned not to be afraid to love. And this was the greatest thing she could do, probably something that just no other of her race would have been able to do and perhaps, indeed certainly, as those damn Terraprimers demonstrated, even of the human race itself. And better to gloss over the other races. She had had to fly without wings to do such a thing. She had had to annul the spatial distance between her world, her ancestral heritage, and the world of Men. The world of Trip.

But Trip was a magician. By now this was clear. He was a magician for real. And he had cast on her one of his spells, the most powerful of his wizardries. He had managed to teach her not to be afraid to love. His love for her had done this. His love, could anyone doubt? A love so strong, so intense to not get broken in front of anything; not even in the face of the ordeals that she, her fear, had forced him to undergo. Not even in the face of the blackest disheartenment, as when he had wanted to try to go away, to abandon the source itself of his love, but also of his frustration, his anger, his woe. His sufferings. **(2)**

Not even in the face of death.** (3)**

_And Trip_. Trip, sure. He too had learned, and most likely more than the others. He had learned not to be afraid of being Trip. Exactly so. He had learned to be fully the man he was. To grow, to believe in himself, to be much more than the ineffable magician of the engines. To fully acquire and show the grandeur of his soul and of his mind, of his immensely great heart, as when - he, Archer, knew; he knew it very well; T'Pol, just she, had revealed this to him - he had given up to reclaim her love, the love that he knew belonged to him, only to enable her to carry out, foolishly, what she thought it was her duty. Marrying that ill-bred and false-hearted idiot of Koss. **(4)**

Trip had learned to be the man that T'Pol could - **had to** - love.

And it had been T'Pol to teach him this. T'Pol. Who had cast in turn a tremendous spell on him, the spell of her love for him. Her love, exactly. Her love. Just the love she was afraid to feel. And this, too, so strong, so intense to not get broken in the face of anything. Not even in the face of her fear to love.

And he? Archer? What had he learned?

An enormous amount of things.

To be truer. More man. To be the Captain for real. To understand - Oh yes. _Yes._ - that being the Captain did not necessarily mean being without love; that there was something else besides the career and Starfleet on one hand and personal ambition on the other, whether such ambition is justified and motivated or not; that the duty and the ability to fully perform own duty is not disjointed from the possibility of loving and being loved.

Trip and T'Pol, together, had taught him this. Their struggling within, their seeking the one for the other. And their meeting each other, at the end; their finding themselves together, the one with the other. And everything without they ever failing in their duty and without ever their aspirations being repressed, because, always, they knew how to reconcile everything, every even remote contrast between love and duty.

And perhaps, indeed certainly, they were able to do all this exactly by virtue of the strength of their love.

They had taught everyone, by virtue of their example, that love is above all else, and to him, precisely to him, they had taught that this love, for him, _also for him_, there was; existed. That it was enough to want it and look for it just where it was, where it could be found, for getting it; without… without seeking it exactly where he couldn't be able to find it, as… as he had done, and precisely - the oaf that else he was not! – precisely… precisely with T'Pol! But think a little! T'Pol! Who couldn't be anything but the woman of Trip! Who was... - _That image! The image of Trip who, in resurrecting from the darkness of death, said this to T'Pol! _- ... _**who was his destiny. **_**(3)**

But just their example had taught him, had allowed him to understand that he could have been not alone, that loneliness was not necessarily _**his**_ destiny. They had enabled him to understand how important it was to have, _to treasure_, the love of the one who could love and de facto really loved him.

Of Erika.

Erika, who at this time was out there, somewhere, in command of her ship, and was surely - oh yes. Surely! - thinking of him. And – and this was awfully important - whose life was hanging not only on her own capabilities and her own decisions, but also on _his_ capabilities, on _his_ decisions; and on _his_ ability to make prevail in himself the voice of reason, to know how to listen not only to himself, but also to others, those of whom he knew he could blindly trust.

As Malcolm.

Malcolm, sure; who was his tactical officer, but who was also, _could be_, one of his trusted friends. On the condition that he were willing to allow him to be such.

But they, Trip and T'Pol, had brought him to be able to do even this, because they had taught all the beauty of love, in any its aspects. They had become for everyone, for every member of the crew, the insignia, the flag, the embodiment itself of the power of love. They had become, for everyone, something to cherish, to protect, for what they were and what they represented, something that transcended their personal abilities, skills, competencies. Even their ranks in the chain of command. _They had overstepped, had gone beyond the poky limit of their ranks._

For everyone.

Trip and T'Pol, their story, their love, had taught to him - to everyone - the truest and deepest values of life. Even without realizing they were doing that.

To everyone. From the more in the background of crew members to each of the components of the bridge. To Malcolm, to Hoshi, to him, Archer. Even to Travis. Even to Phlox, who was now much more than a good doctor, was a doctor able to understand - and to cure - above and beyond his mere scientific knowledge.

So then... this was the time to put into practice their teachings. To give real value, true effectiveness, to everything he had learned. He had already begun to do so. Now it came to express this with the words besides with the facts. There was need to be clear. In every respect. In everything and for everything.

His expression relaxed. He looked at Malcolm with quieter eyes. He nodded. "Yes, Malcolm, I do quite understand what you want to say."

He turned, crossing his arms behind him. He spoke without turning around. "Listen, Malcolm. I needed someone with whom to talk, with whom to share my decisions. Someone whom I can trust and who is able to fully understand the pros and cons of the decision which is more expedient to take, whatever it is."

He turned and looked at Malcolm, straight in the eyes. "I needed my tactical officer but, above all, I needed a man. And a friend. The man and the friend to whom it is entrusted our offensive and defensive strength, but also and above all the safety of us all and of _Enterprise_."

Malcolm was struck speechless for a moment. He nodded, finally, uncertainly. "Captain ... I ..." Then he diverted the conversation. He tried, at least, acting the way it was his habit to do. "Thank you for your words and for the trust, Captain. But I think it would be more appropriate that you seek advice of your first officer, T'Pol. The rule imposes..."

"I do not care the rules, now, Malcolm." The response was rather vehement and Archer noticed it. He hastened to mitigate the tone.

"See, Malcolm..." The Captain paused. He approached the Lieutenant and delicately put a hand on his injured shoulder. He looked at him into his eyes, frankly and overtly. "Mal, I do not want to weigh on her, at this time. I know, I know very well that she never backs down and surely she could advise me wisely. But I wish... I think it's fair that she ... that she can have uniquely Trip, at these moments, in her mind. As far as possible."

Malcolm was unable to say a single word. The Captain who spoke so! Really, these years on _Enterprise_ had taught a lot of things, and, evidently, not only to him. The Captain, he too like everyone else, was patently anything but immune to the teachings of the past years on the first Starship of Starfleet.

He concentrated, with some effort, on what the Captain kept on saying.

"There are no real emergencies, at this time, Malcolm."

The Captain chuckled a little forcibly, realizing the nonsense he had said. He removed his hand from the shoulder of Malcolm and walked away a little. "Well, at least there are no emergencies ... very emergencies." He resumed his serious expression. "I mean, sure, this, in which we find ourselves, it's all an emergency, but at this time we do not find ourselves having to confront with something extremely urgent. We simply have, so to speak, to understand what is best to do with regard to the situation of the engines that Anna Hess noted. And, to do so, we haven't need of T'Pol. You are the most fitting person."

Archer paused one more time, before continuing to speak. He looked meaningfully at Malcolm. "Why forcing T'Pol to neglect her husband, at this time, when it comes actually to take a strategic and tactical decision that is your proficiency, Malcolm? Or, rather, that I know that I can take by relying on your obvious and proven proficiency?"

Malcolm was silent for a long moment, looking at his Captain with intent eyes, and not devoid of a shred of wonder. Well, actually quite a bit more than a shred. Then he nodded gravely. There was a new and different Captain, in front of him, a Captain who took and wanted to take into account the opinions of others, and a Captain.… yes… _a Captain who had at heart the hearts of others._ And, and this was the core of the matter, a Captain who wanted to be so.

Even more. _A Captain who wanted to appear so._

There had been signs, and many, of the change occurred in him, of the efforts, too, that he did and had done in order to change and to show off his change. It wasn't to be forgotten, truly it wasn't, that he had spent himself, and profusely, with the High Commands to permit the marriage between Trip and T'Pol to take place,**(5) **and not even it was to be forgotten that he had accepted that even between him, Malcolm, and Hoshi, it were possible that there was something much more than mere friendship or fellow-feeling, there, on _Enterprise_.

And, last but not least, even though nothing had been openly said, although nothing had leaked, so to speak, officially, it was known that the Captain had given way, he too, to the power of love. There had been talk, and much, and the rumours weren't at all ceased, of a certain encounter, anything but short, between him and Captain Erika Hernandez on the pier in San Francisco, that… had not been spent only on the pier.**(6)** The pier, with annexed venues of all kinds, was not a solitary mountain, where no one could know whether the most famous Starfleet captain and another of its captains_, a female captain and decidedly of beautiful appearance_, were spending together… euphemistically speaking, a little of their time. **(7)**

And okay. All this was true. But it never had happened to him, to the Captain, to say with words, to want so openly to express the new way of being, the new course, that he had decided he had to follow, and with evident effort, as not seldom the outbursts of his innate and unreasonable authoritarianism showed. You couldn't certainly erase with a sponge the way of reasoning - of reasoning? Well, say so. - of a lifetime. However, he tried. Yes. It had to be said. He tried.

Really, indeed really, _Enterprise_ had been and was master of life!

Or rather, one had to be honest, not so much _Enterprise_ in itself and for itself, but the two most important members of its crew in a sense, this had to be acknowledged; the most significant; those in whom everything had begun and from whom everything had proceeded.

Trip and T'Pol.

Certainly, of all things that those two had been able to do, this - inducing the Captain to change - was the most incredible. It had even... yes, it had even a touch of magic.

Maybe it was true. Trip was really a magician, as, kidding, the Captain had said. And his union with...

If he'd not found himself in the predicament in which he was, talking to the Captain in that way, Malcolm would certainly have grinned at the memory.

There are things that a man reveals only to his best friend, and among these there are things that he reveals to him just to let him know that he is, for real, his best friend. So, Malcolm had understood, once for all, that he was really this for Trip when, with a big smile of complicity painted on the face, winking at him, the Chief Engineer, after having heard him, Malcolm, refer to Hoshi inadvertently using the intimate phrase he used in their privacy, _'my petite'_, with the idea and with the pretext of wanting to dampen his clear embarrassment, had told him, in all confidentiality, that, not infrequently, in their intimacy, in... some particular moments, he called T'Pol... his little vulcan witch!

Just so! _His little vulcan witch!_

And this - Trip's own words - without causing an arching of accusatory reproach of her eyebrow in response!

Incredible! But not more incredible than the Captain who was now in front of him, who was talking that way to him. So then... well, then ... maybe… things stood really so. Namely… if Trip was a magician, and T'Pol a witch, well then this, their union, perhaps had been able to multiply Trip's witchlike power, had given him the sorcerous might to launch a spell on the Captain of an unprecedented potency, so as to make him a man entirely new and even eager to be such a man.

*_All right._* Malcolm shook himself with force out of his ruminations. The Captain was looking at him on hold. There was a hint of impatience in his eyes, of expectation. He did not have to transform that impatience, rather logical in truth, that expectation, into restiveness. That had not to be! *_All right. All right. So then... _*

"Very good, sir. I can not but agree with you regarding the advisability of leaving the first officer free from urgent tasks for the moment. I believe that it is actually possible to take a decision without involving her directly. She... I agree, Captain... she must devote herself to her husband, right now."

The Captain nodded convinced. "All right, Lieutenant. So what? Which way do you suggest that we should take?"

"Captain, I've already said and I remain by my idea."

"No shut-down, then?"

"No shut-down."

"And if..."

Malcolm raised his hand, slightly impatiently. "Captain, you said it yourself. I know my job. I will know countering a possible threat."

The Captain nodded once again. "All right, Malcolm. I know that we can trust you."

Malcolm nodded in turn. "So the decision is made, sir?

"The decision is made, Lieutenant."

"Do we remain in watchful waiting?"

"We remain in watchful waiting."

"With the engines in this state?"

"With the engines in this state."

"How long, sir?"

"As long as it will be necessary, Lieutenant."

"Very good, sir."

"Okay. That's all, Lieutenant. I believe that there is not more to say. You're dismissed. I really think you have a lot of preparations to make."

"Yes, sir."

The Lieutenant saluted, stiff and chest out, as it was his style, and then turned on his heel, heading for the door, but suddenly stopped and stood still for a moment, as if ruminating over something that had abruptly caught his attention.

He turned and looked a little uncertain at the Captain. "Sir?"

"Mr. Reed?"

"No news from the doctor?"

"No, Mr. Reed."

"Trip ... I mean Commander Tucker... does he not yet give signs of awakening?

"T'Pol would know before me."

"But you'd know immediately after, if not at the same moment."

"Of course."

"But all is silent."

The Captain shook his head in not covertly disconsolate way. "I have already said, Mr. Reed. No news. I fear that it will take some time yet."

"So the Commander will not be operating for quite a while."

"I... Yeah. I just fear that it will."

Malcolm moved off a little uncomfortable. "This is a damn shame, sir. I mean, we would really need that he could perform once again on its engines one... one…"

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed broke off, distinctly uncomfortable. How bloody hell could he ask such a question?

The Captain half-smiled, hesitantly, not knowing if he had to look staid or amused. The conversation with Anna Hess was still very clear in his mind, in all its details, word for word, from beginning… _to end_. "One of his spells, Lieutenant?"

Malcolm nodded. "Yes, Captain."

* * *

Valdore looked at his senior officers while they were leaving the command bridge.

As usual, everyone had shown himself ready and efficient. Not that he had expected any comments, there were never any comments to the decisions taken by a High Official on the part of the subordinates, in the Romulan Empire.

This was the strength of the Empire.

Valdore sat down, thoughtfully, vaguely uncomfortable. Doubtful. Yes, this was the term. Doubtful.

Was it really the strength of the Empire? Could it... could it also be its weakness?

Valdore drove out with impatience this thought, futile and harmful.

Nonsense. He was the admiral. His subordinates had simply to put into practice his decisions.

And his decisions were going to be put in place.

Valdore stood up. He slowly approached the porthole. He looked out into space.

The space, indifferent and cold.

The space which the Empire had the destiny to conquer.

Soon the trap would have snapped.

Valdore was certain. Someone, one, maybe more, of the Earth's ships, would have taken the bait.

Hopefully _Enterprise_. Yes. It would have been really a great stroke, this.

Of course, with the other ships of Earth Starfleet it would probably have been easier. Because...

Valdore sank even more his gaze in the icily imperturbable space outside the porthole.

Yeah. Because the fact was that there was not a Charles Antony Tucker on them, and this was undoubtedly a great advantage. Commander Charles Anthony Tucker the Third could really be a man… definitely dangerous. The Chief Engineer of _Enterprise_ was well known for his incredible engineering skill, for his ingenious inventiveness. His genius. This, it was. Reports and information were all concordant.

And at that moment… Ah yes. At that moment, not even on _Enterprise_ there was a Charles Anthony Tucker. To put it better, there wasn't a Charles Anthony Tucker in good condition, able to act, to attend to his duties.

That is, there wasn't a Charles Anthony Tucker able to...

Strange, how he could have such a thought, really strange. But, in the end, it was true.

The colourful language of Humans at the bottom was not lying.

Humans… and also on the part of the Vulcans, of Soval, even, it had been heard mutter something like that. Contemptuously, disdainfully, with gritted teeth. But it had been heard… Humans called the chief Engineer of _Enterprise_... magician.

The magician of the engines.

And not only that.

So, all in all, from the first unsuccessful attack, something good had come out.

Really excellent thing that at that moment on _Enterprise_ there wasn't any Charles Anthony Tucker able to make one of his spells.

* * *

Here. Yes.

*_I'm here, T'hai'la_*.

So. Just like that!

*_Open your eyes, my Ashayam. I am here. I am here._*

Yes! Oh yes!

His hand in her hand; squeezing her hand.

His eyelids; fluctuating; rising up with effort.

Oh yes, yes, yes!

*_My love, my beloved, my all! Yes! Like that! Like that!_*

His eyes.

His eyes, full of enchantment. Their blue, shining of magic. Of spell.

His eyes into hers.

Open, finally, and at once lost in the enchantment of the deep gray-green of hers.

In their magic.

In their spell of love.

* * *

_**End of Part Six.**_

_**TBC in Part Seven**_

_**Where it won't be talked of spells.**_

**oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

**(1) **_Do you remember the episode "Bound"?_

**(2) **_Do you remember the episode"Affliction"?_

**(3) **_Do you remember my story "Destiny"?_

**(4) **_I'm sure I do not need to remind anyone that immense idiocy that has been the episode "Home"._

**(5) **_Do you remember my story "Honeymoon Evening"?_

**(6) **_Do you remember my story "Human Mood"?_

**(7) **_We are again talking of "Home"._


	7. Chapter 7

**Ineluctable**

**By Asso**

**Part Seven**

* * *

_If we wanted to give it a name, we could call it "Awakenings."_

_This too is short, I know, and I apologize._

_But the blame lies with Trip and T'Pol. They told me: __**stop here.**_

* * *

**ooooooooooooooooooooooo**

**ooooooooooooooooooooooo**

T'Pol kept the promise she had made to herself.

Oh yes, of course, her husband, _her _Trip, was not at the best of shape at that time, just to want to say things in a Vulcan fashion. Pain, debility, confusion, disorientation, and the list could go on for quite a while; but, frankly, she did not care a damn about all this. All she wanted was to cling to him and kiss him, print her lips on what was possible to see, _to taste_, of _his_ lips from among the bandages wrapping his face

And so she did.

And the achy, confused, disoriented, poor Charles Anthony "Trip" Tucker the Third, in feeling so without warning ill-treated that way just at the moment he was just back to the world without even being yet able to realize that he had returned and what the hell of sort of world were that where he was back… did not complain for anything at all.

He could not move his arms; something, some kind of soft constraint, prevented him from doing it and then he just didn't have the strength.

His throat, as well as his mouth, was dry and parched, so he could not speak. And then, how the hell would he have done, with those lips pressed on his? _Those marvellously velvety lips?_

That mouth, _that delightfully mellow mouth_, which crushed his, didn't let him breathe.

And that weight, the weight of that body, _that wonderful, soft body_ on his, tight to his, caused pain to his already aching muscles, to his poor bones.

And yet, the definitely unceremonious, definitely curt, definitely biting, definitely harsh, definitely impatient and expeditious and hard-headed and ill-tempered and cantankerous Chief Engineer of _Enterprise_ didn't make remonstrances whatsoever.

He didn't resent, didn't cuss, didn't inveigh.

Whether he were in possession of the strength to do it or not, he not even tried. Not even by walking in tiptoe to avoid being noticed, such an idea transited through the antechamber of his brain, however much groggy this were at that moment.

Is there to wonder why?

* * *

"Centurion?"

"It's begun, Admiral. The zero hour will be exactly within 120 minutes."

"Very well. I will be in the control room just fifteen minutes before the zero hour. I want to be called exactly twenty minutes before and be informed every quarter of an hour about the operation's progress."

"At your command, Admiral."

Valdore unconsciously nodded, even though no one could see him.

The intercom had become silent.

He looked again out in black space.

His mind was alert.

Could have been said that it was perfectly awake.

The operation had begun.

* * *

Strange dreams.

Dreams full of strange things.

Of things and of facts.

Of people...

_His sister..._

There she was. Was talking to him. Was telling him that she would have gone away, that would have left him alone.

Alone.

With his dreams.

_His former-boss..._

But it was not him.

He spoke like him, moved like him, had his own face.

But it was not him.

He was the Captain.

Of _Enterprise_.

Strange dreams.

Dreams full of strange people.

Of people and of facts.

Of things...

_Enterprise._

Of images…

_Enterprise_… an infirmary… on _Enterprise_.

Another person…

A doctor.

Alien.

Alien?

Alien.

And another Alien…

A female.

A _vulcan _female.

A beautiful vulcan female.

Splendid.

Wonderful.

_Vulcan._

_Beautiful._

_Splendid._

_Wonderful._

She was with a man.

With _her_ man.

There he was. The man.

Here.

His face.

_His… face…_

Dreams.

Strange dreams.

Beautiful dreams.

And disquieting.

_Dreams._

You can't be aware of dreaming.

But can, sometimes, your dormant brain perceive something? Sense the feeling of the dimension of dreams? Can it occur that your unconscious mind begins to understand? That you can think, without being able to really consciously think, of having to come out from where you are?

_From the dimension of dreams?_

Can the dreams do such a thing, if they are so strange? So beautiful, too, but also so disquieting?

Can it happen that you begin to stir, in your sleep;_ to unconsciously try to wake up_, in the midst of so strange... disquieting... _and beautiful_...

…_dreams?_

* * *

Suddenly, T'Pol realized.

But what… _what __**the hell**__ was she doing?_

Her Trip was just coming back from the pharmacological sleep that Phlox had induced in him to allow him to recover, and she... she...

Her love for him, her desire for him, her relief at seeing him awake, out of the tunnel, her wish to show him all she felt for him, all this was not supposed to dim her mind to such an extent! What a nice logic, for Surak's beard! What nice kind of Vulcan, she was!

Too much love!

Too much!

It prompted her to do things ... to do things...

T'Pol rose abruptly.

She left with shame and... with regret... the lips of her husband.

But however much she were embarrassed, inevitably her eyes couldn't help but look for _his_ eyes, again, and they caught perfectly the gaze of bliss that shone in them; the adoring stare with which they looked at hers.

With which they appeared getting lost into hers.

No. It was not true. It was not too much.

It was little.

Too little, the love she felt for him.

Too little, for all the love he deserved her to have for him.

For all the love he donated to her.

But that did not mean it was lawful…_justified_… for her to behave like that!

T'Pol sat next to her husband. She took his hand. She tried to give herself a deportment... a little more dignified.

"Nice to see you awake, husband."

Oookay. Perfectly controlled. Very vulcan. Yes, entirely in line. _Really_ very vulcan.

Not much vulcan the sound of her voice, though.

Damn! But how could she do, as far as Vulcan she could be, a poor wife, in love, and with the heart bursting with happiness and untold relief because she could again have with her, alive and practically, almost, _**finally**_, out... out of the woods, behold!... her beloved husband, to prevent her voice from shaking, at least a little, in such a circumstance?

T'Pol found herself in trouble. She was embarrassed, was ashamed, too, and had difficulty, _serious_ difficulty, to withstand the turmoil that stirred within her, that the fact itself of being able to hug again her Trip was causing to her, and .. and...

She felt overwhelmed with emotions.

She needed… an aid.

Yes. She needed… she needed…

A weary and yet gently bantering gaze made its tiring appearance into her husband's eyes, barely visible from under the turban of his bandages, accompanied by a hint of a fatigued smile. Weak, but so tremendously capable of warming T'Pol's Katra, as his smiles had always done and continued to do, something that she was unable to explain with any logic, and that, after so much silly and futile inner struggle, she had finally given up explaining with logic and that she had now no desire to explain. Neither with logic nor in any other way.

Now, and at long last, for her it was enough being warmed that way.

But at that moment, the warmth she felt was greatest than it had ever been. It couldn't but be so, because her T'hai'la was tiredly but surely showing himself again as the man he was, which meant that he was really on the road to full recovery, and this couldn't but warm immensely her heart.

But also… also… also because she perceived, and definitely there wasn't need of the Bond to sense it, that he was attempting to appease the atmosphere, namely, ultimately… _to help her._

It was even difficult to conceive. He was just barely out of his medically induced coma, and he was to worry and take care of her and her state of mind! Yet, that gaze, that smile of him, gave no room for doubt. He was indeed trying to do it.

_Why? How was it possible?_

Oh T'Pol knew it well! But because she, and only she - could there be any doubt? - was always at the top of his thoughts, at the core of his solicitude, of all his cares; in any moment and in any situation. Even now, yes. Even now. Because that look, that smile, meant that he had understood and that now, in some way, he was trying to prevent her from being overpowered by emotions. He was well aware that she was a Vulcan and that a Vulcan can easily and tragically be upset by emotions when these emotions are such that it is not possible to keep them under control.

Unless this Vulcan in trouble had the luck that had befallen her.

Being the woman of Trip.

Oh Surak! How could it be possible, for her, not to be so immensely in love with him, just as she was?

Right that smile, that look, so typical of him, were enough to calm her a bit, but that smile, that look, - it was clear - alone, did not want to say anything. They were only a prelude.

And T'Pol waited, happy, looking forward, for what to which they preluded.

Her husband's hand moved just a little, getting up from the bed's surface of that much that was granted to it and laboriously but surely pointed to her, as his eyes quitted looking at hers and seemed to watch further down on her, without any change in their expression. Then, finally, he spoke. With difficulty and exertion, but T'Pol clearly heard his feeble words.

"The pleasure is mine." He paused an instant, as his hand fell heavily on the bed. "_Wifey_."

T'Pol's eyes widened as she suddenly started to understand. She lowered swiftly her gaze to look at the t-shirt she was wearing.

And she realized what she had on.

Her eyes ran quickly to those of her husband.

He was watching her, the blue of his eyes a little tarnished, at that moment, and yet still also distinctly playful and softly sardonic at the same time. And, clearly, evidently, patently, showing the warmth of his feelings for her.

The warmth. Once again his warmth.

_Oh Surak! Oh souls of ancestors! How she loved him! _

And she had much more than one good reason!

Of course. Because once again, as always, he, her... her _unmatched_ human husband, was solving the matter, was taking care to remove her from any embarrassment and from any trouble. Even at that time.

_A witty remark. Overflowing with love for her._

Just a small, innocent witty remark. Simple and meaningful. Able at the same time to show her how much he understood her and to dampen, _placidly, jokingly_, the storm of her emotions.

A witty remark. By virtue of which he gave her the ways and means to drive away the impetus of those unmanageable emotions.

A quiet and playful witty remark, of those habitual to him, that she understood, now. No. More. That she now wished, and that warmed her heart, they too. Against which she had learned to retort. And with not too hidden pleasure.

That had become the weft of their false and true quarrels of lovers.

Their game of love.

And that tiny, sweet witty remark told her to play with their game of love.

_It… he, her marvellous husband, was saying… 'Play along with our game. Follow me. Play with me. And you will be able to face your emotions; to handle them.'_

Because he knew her in her innermost intimacy, _was able to perceive her in her innermost intimacy_, and knew how to act with her, how to give her the chance of managing her emotions without saying anything openly to her, allowing her not to openly show that she was prey to the emotions and that she needed help, _his_ help, to manage them.

_Even at that time._

And this owing to something that was much more than the Bond that united them, which was the very matrix of the Bond.

This was owing to the love he had for her.

How could it be possible for her not to love him in turn? And how would it have been possible, for her, to show him all the gratitude - all the love - which she in turn had for him?

T'Pol knew how.

By acting with him how he expected her to behave.

By showing him herself as the T'Pol he loved.

By following him, in his game.

In their game of love.

It was easy. Everything was easy with him.

It was amazing to think that once it had not been so. Before. Before she had understood, finally, that she… _had to follow her heart._

But now she had learned to follow her heart.

And so she did.

She straightened up well on the chair beside the bed of her Mate and took - she succeeded perfectly - the most vulcan of expressions, deadpan and disdainful at the right point.

But her hand shook with gentle force the hand of her love.

Her voice didn't tremble, this time.

"Glad to see you can talk." A short pause. A delicate squeeze of his hand. "_Hubby._"

And her ears, the vulcan pointy ears that he loved so much, savoured again the joy of his laughter.

* * *

_**End of Part Seven**_

_**TBC**_

**ooooooooooooooooooooooo**

**ooooooooooooooooooooooo**

_"Awakenings."_

_I had told you._

_But, fear not. The awakenings will be followed by actions._

_In the next chapter._


End file.
